Celebrating a fine Smoky Mountain day with a few thoughts gleaned from poet Wendell Berry:
I come into the peace of wild things … for a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. We pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye, clear. What we need is here.
I part the out-thrusting branches and come in beneath the blessed and the blessing trees. Though I am silent, there is singing around me. Though I am dark, there is vision around me.
Planting trees early in spring, we make a place for birds to sing in time to come. How do we know? They are singing here now. There is no other guarantee that singing will ever be.