Blustery grey day here. Yesterday it snowed and sleeted; today the rain was horizontal and plentiful. My mood rages like the weather. Rarely sunny and too often pouring. I’m worried about the lambs in the fields all over the country, and I’m worried about my kids. It’s my mother’s birthday.

For the next 11 days, we wait. I want time to speed up, to slow down. Oddly, it will do both of those things and neither.

Today I got two poems from friends to comfort me. They did.

What We Need Is Here

Wendell Berry

Geese appear high over us,

pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,

as in love or sleep, holds

them to their way, clear

in the ancient faith: what we need

is here. And we pray, not

for new earth or heaven, but to be

quiet in heart, and in eye,

clear. What we need is here.


To Come Home to Yourself          

~John O’Donohue

May all that is unforgiven in you

Be released

May your fears yield

Their deepest tranquilities.

May all that is unlived in you

Blossom into a future

Graced with love.


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