.
.
The spring woods hastening now
To overshadow him,
He's passing in to where
He can't see out. It charms
Mere eyesight to believe
The nearest thing not trees
Is the sky, into which
The trees reach, opening
Their luminous new leaves.
Burdened only by
A weightless shawl of shade
The lighted leaves let fall,
He seems to move within
A form unpatterned to
His eye or mind, design
Betokened to his thought
By leafshapes tossed about.
Ways untranslatable
To human tongue or hand
Seem tangled here, and yet
Are brought to light, are brought
To life, and thought finds rest
Beneath a brightened tree
In which, unseen, a warbler
Feeds and sins. His song's
Small shapely melody
Comes down irregularly,
As all light's givings come.
.
~ Wendell Berry
photo by Kathleen Connally
photo by Kathleen Connally
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