To position ourselves for the life intentional, for the coming of love in the wee babe, is to wait and to race forward, to be in want and to rest content.
Another Sabbath Poem by Wendell Berry
What do the tall trees say
to the late havocs in the sky?
the air moves, and they sway.
when the breeze on the hill
is still, then they stand still.
they have no fear. their fate
is faith. birdsong
is all they’ve wanted, all along.