Sunday, November 27, 2011

A Song for Sunday




Not again in this flesh will I see the old trees stand here as they did, weighty creatures made of light, delight of their making straight in them and well, whatever blight our blindness was or made, however thought or act might fail.

The burden of absence grows, and I pay daily the grief I owe to love for women and men, days and trees I will not know again. Pray for the world’s light thus borne away. Pray for the little songs that wake and move.

For comfort as these lights depart, recall again the angels of the thicket, columbine aerial in the whelming tangle, song drifting down, light rain, day returning in song, the lordly Art piecing out its humble way.

Though blindness may yet detonate in light, ruining all, after all the years, great right subsumed finally in paltry wrong, what do we know? Still the Presence that we come into with song is here, shaping the seasons of His wild will.


~~Wendell Berry (from the OnBeing blog, by Krista Tippett)

Happy Sunday to all. Shalom!

5 comments:

steven said...

oh reya - "pray for the little songs that move". wendell and krista all in one space! that's an astonishing connection . . . . i couldn't have said that until you pointed my eyes towards krista but i get it now. happy sunday!!!!! steven

Reya Mellicker said...

And to you, too, papery being!

Pam said...

These words of Wendell Berry are beautiful.
I tried to read them out loud, but my broad Australian accent does not do them justice. I think they need the strong mellifluous tones of someone like the late Richard Burton.
I have found a site devoted to all things Wendell Berry and have bookmarked it for later reference.
Meanwhile I will try and memorize this beautiful piece.
What an interesting American committed to his ideals.
Thank you Reya.

Reya Mellicker said...

Pam, he is one of my heroes. Incredible writer and thinker. He speaks the truths no one has taken time to consider. For instance, he pointed out (this was some time ago), that by the age of 12 or 13, every American knows how to make babies, but hardly anyone of any age knows how to grow a potato.

It's a big problem!

I bet your voice sounded wonderful, an honor to Mr. Berry.

jeanette from everton terrace said...

The burden of absence grows...REALLY like that.