I heard this beautiful poem today. Not a spring poem, but the last two sentences is the mantra I would like to take into my everyday life no matter the season. The Wild Geese by Wendell Berry Horseback on Sunday morning, harvest over, we taste persimmon and wild grape, sharp sweet of summer’s end. In time’s maze over fall fields, we name names that went west from here, names that rest on graves. We open a persimmon seed to find the tree that stands in promise, pale