The hill is like an old woman,
All her human obligations met,
Who sits at work day after day,
In a kind of rapt leisure,
At an intricate embroidery.
She has time for all things.
Because she does not expect ever to be finished,
She is endlessly patient with details.
She perfects flower and leaf,
Feather and song,
Adorning the briefest life in a great beauty
As though it were meant to last forever.
~~ Wendell Berry ~~
"A Native Hill"
from The Art of the Commonplace
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. . . [S]he that soweth to the Spirit
Shall of the Spirit
Reap life everlasting.
* * *