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Unmaking Makes The World

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  • Unmaking Makes The World

    Unmaking Makes The World
            &n bsp;       &nbs p; by Wendell Berry
    The year relents, and free
         Of work, I climb again
    To where the old trees wait,
          Time out of mind, I hear
    Traffic down on the road,
          Engines high overhead.
    And then a quiet comes,
          A cleft in time, silence
          Of metal moved by fire;
    The air holds little voices,
         Titmice and chickadees,
    Feeding through the treetops
    Among the new small leaves,
          Calling again to mind
    The grace of circumstance,
         Sabbath econonmy
    In which all thought is song,
         All labor is a dance.
    The world is made at rest,
         In ease of gravity.
    I hear the ancient theme
    In low world-shaping song
    Sung by the falling stream.
         Here where a rotting log
    Has slowed the flow: a shelf
         Of dark soil, level laid
    Above the tumbled stone.
         Roots fasten it in place.
         It will be here awhile;
    What holds it here decays.
         A richness from above,
    Brought down, is held, and holds
    A little while in flow.
    Stem and leaf grow from it.
         At cost of death, it has
    A life. Thus falling founds,
    Unmaking makes the world.
            &n bsp;      * * *
    Good Scouting to you all.

  • #2
    Thank You