Wendell Berry, from "Sabbaths 2001", in Poetry, Vol 181, No. 1, pp. 6-8.
Sit and be still
until in the time
of no rain you hear
beneath the dry wind's
commotion in the trees
the sound of flowing
water among the rocks,
a stream unheard before,
and you are where
breathing is prayer.
2 comments:
I’m very interested in finding the things that help me to feel how to be with God, discovering the place in myself in which unceasing prayer becomes effortless and natural. This poem seems to lead towards that still point.
Loving God, help me to know how I can be present with you in every moment, my longing for you flowing up out of my being.
This poem reminds me of the Hudson River, where I watched the weather flow this weekend, and heard God's breath in the wind.
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