“And so, such history as my family has is the history of its life here. All that any of us may know of ourselves is to be known in relation to this place. And since I did most of my growing up here, and have had most of my most meaningful experiences here, the place and the history, for me, have been inseparable, and there is a sense in which my own life is inseparable from the history and the place. It is a complex inheritance, and I have been both enriched and bewildered by it”
Wendell Berry, A Native Hill.
13.
At the end
of the long
gravel lane
stands
my grandfather’s
cottonwood tree.
You can see it
to the south
from the farmhouse.
It stands alone.
Solitary.
Wandering in place
against the horizon.
14.
I count
myself lucky.
Fortunate.
To sit among
the trees.
I sense
a welcome.
A steadfastness and peace.
A determination
to love
through it all
and to
the end.
15.
Is belovedness
really sufficient?
For the millionth time
I wonder.
Isn’t there something else
I should be doing?
Isn’t there someone else
I should be?
Are you sure?
This can’t be enough.
But your welcome
of love reassures me
for the millionth time.
The wonder.
Your embrace.