The Peace of Wild Things
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.
This poem expresses much of the essence of my country life. The wildness, the nature around me does truly give solace when my heart is heavy. The quietness calms the noise in my head. I receive the visits of deer and chickadees and wild turkeys and bears and moose as blessings. The one asparagus plant that always comes up reminds me that someone planted it oh, so many years ago. The Duchess apple tree has survived a long, long time and still bears fruit. The big maple out front has been here probably longer than my old house. We find chunks of coal and shards of pottery and old bottles and think about those who lived here before us. There is a feeling of permanence and of natural life continuing on, no matter what occurs in the lives of the humans who share this land. The swallows come back to the same birdhouse each spring, the robins fill the lawns and nest in the trees, the woodcock tells us winter is gone. These things are unchanging, and I am filled with peace.