Transient is this world;
like phantoms and dreams,
Substance it has none.
Grasp not the world nor your kin;
meditate in woods and mountains.
I GO AMONG TREES AND SIT STILL
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
Around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
Where I left them, asleep like cattle…
Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
And the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.
— Wendell Berry
from Sabbaths, 1987, North Point Press
Poetry Garden
