I am not Wendell Berry

March, 2008

I am not Wendell Berry.  Of course.

But a poet who sees and feels the goodness and beauty of a place should’ve been in my shoes two mornings ago.  The air was cool as the sun was rising.  And as I trudged across a closely cropped pasture, rich green with the arrival of spring, two Canadian geese flew directly over me.  They were so close that I could hear their wings flap, even over their silly honking.

Surely someone could make a beautiful poem from that.

Wendell Berry could.

But I am not Wendell Berry.


Grace and Peace