Stay Home
I will wait here in the fields
to see how well the rain
brings on the grass.
In the labor of the fields
longer than a man’s life
I am at home. Don’t come with me.
You stay home too.
I will be standing in the woods
where the old trees
move only with the wind
and then with gravity.
In the stillness of the trees
I am at home. Don’t come with me.
You stay home too.
–Wendell Berry
I was missing my old Kentucky home tonight and so I picked up, again, The Collected Poems of Wendell Berry. Every word he writes seems so tied to the land that my family was raised–and will die–on. It’s a beautiful state, full of mountains and hills, and fiercely proud people. You should visit some time. I should, too.
-R
