Wild Geese
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