The Peace of Wild Things

A poem by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

and I  feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. for a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Summer evening

I spent a little time outside this evening, enjoying the blanket of humidity and the song of the cicadas. I live in a suburban area close to Houston, very near Galveston Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. The temperature now, at 9 pm, is 83 degrees and the humidity is 81%. I live on the third floor, and caught the sun setting behind the magnolia trees.

sunset behind trees

A couple of hours earlier, I enjoyed the sight and scent of the giant crepe myrtles, another reason I love living upstairs.

tops of crepe myrtles

But this little guy got the better of me, before I got the better of him.

blood sucking villain
blood sucking villain

So I didn’t stay out long – it’s easy to work up a sweat just sitting around swatting mosquitoes.

“People who claim they don’t let little things bother them have never slept in a room with a single mosquito.”

attributed to several people, but actually an African proverb.

What do you like to do on a summer evening?