"Grace"
by Wendell Berry

The woods is shining this morning.
Red, gold and green, the leaves lie
on the ground, or fall,
or hang full of light in the air still.
Perfect in its rise and in its fall, it takes
the place it has been coming to forever.
It has not hastened here, or lagged.
See how surely it has sought itself,
its roots passing lordly through the earth.
See how without confusion it is
all that it is, and how flawless
its grace is. Running or walking, the way
is the same. Be still. Be still.
"He moves your bones and the way is clear."

This poem has really been resonating with me lately . . . the more I read it . . . the more I understand it . . . the more I am able to take from it.

I don't think I could have been introduced to this poem at a better time. Thanks Phil.