I spent the day mowing, splitting and stacking next winter’s wood, and tidying up the farm. The week is ending, and next week I begin again my day job downtown , which will take me from this house, this bit of ground that I love and where I could happily spend my weeks. This poem by Wendell Berry (from his collection, A Timbered Choir) seems a good way to end this work week and begin my sabbath rest.
To sit and look at light-filled leaves
May let us see, or seem to see,
Far backward as through clearer eyes
To what unsighted hope believes:
The blessed conviviality
That sang Creation’s seventh sunrise,
Time when the Maker’s radiant sight
Made radiant every thing He saw,
And everything He saw was filled
With perfect joy and life and light.
His perfect pleasure was sole law;
No pleasure had become self-willed.
For all His creatures were His pleasures
And their whole pleasure was to be
What He made them; they sought no gain
Or growth beyond their proper measures,
Nor longed for change or novelty.
The only new thing could be pain.