A poem about hope.
Yesterday I posted a poem. Most of my people aren’t poets, so I feel the need to explain. What is a poem, and why would I write one, and why would I share one, imperfect as it is? Why do I bother to read poetry when I’m not a poet—and why would I say I’m... Continue Reading →
A poem for the Abbey.
Be Still to See: The Sabbath-Day Gift of Wendell Berry
This week I had the bittersweet pleasure of finishing a wonderful book. I’d read it slowly, savoring it in morsels, and it has taken up space on my bedside table for many moons. But I was near the end, and, having had a rather bad day, gave in to the guilty delight of finishing it... Continue Reading →