I am not bound for any public place, but for ground of my own where I have planted vines and orchard trees, and in the heat of the day climbed up into the healing shadow of the woods. Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup. ~Wendell Berry
Monday, October 17, 2011
An' tho' that weather-beaten barn,
nearer death with ev'ry dawn,
will soon collapse an' fade from thought
tradition still lives on.
Sometimes in unexpected ways,
sometimes with subtle change,
the old ways still are carried on,
the old ways still remain.
An' as that old barn tumbles down,
its siding cracked an' worn,
somewhere a ridgebeam's put in place
an' another barn is born.