For us, all life is being revealed in its insistence on wholeness; the organic
interplay between our bodies, the natural world, the lives we make, the
world we create. (Krista Tippett)

Dear Mayfield,

Spring arrives late this evening at 10:49 pm central time, its earliest arrival in 124 years. On the threshold of a new season, during days of considerable uncertainty, it’s an appropriate time to remember the strength, hope, and connection, we draw from the natural world around us. Today I bring to your attention two writings that immerse us in the earth. The first one was written just this week by Cindy Crosby on her blog, Tuesdays in the Tallgrass. The second is a poem by Wendell Berry, “The Peace of Wild Things.”  Poet Joan Murray included Berry’s poem in her collection, Poems to Live By In Uncertain Times, composed and released shortly after 9/11. Peace on the web, Martha

“The Peace of Prairie” (Cindy Crosby)
Take a deep breath.
Let’s go to the prairie.
Look around.
The natural world goes on. The sandhill cranes scrawl their way north, their
annual aerial ballet and vocalizations announcing spring.
In the tallgrass this week, some of the prescribed burns may be delayed, but the
warmth and light invite the first shoots out of the soil.
The last seeds cling to their pods…
…then drop to the ground, pummeled by March’s rain and snow-sleet.
I walk the paths, pausing to check for new growth of the pasque flowers. None up
yet.Or are they camouflaged? Pasque flowers are notoriously difficult to find at
any stage of growth. But I enjoy the blush of little bluestem that lends its color to
the sandier areas of the March prairie;…
…and the tubed bee balm flowerheads waving in the wind.
I remember walking this same prairie on 9/11.  Quiet. So quiet! Later that
frightening week, no contrails crisscrossed the sky as jet travel ground to a halt.
Today, as I hike, I wonder. What will happen tomorrow? The next week?
There’s no way to know what direction events will take.
Nothing to do, really, but look out for each other. Keep walking. Move forward.
Everywhere, the flattened prairie seems defeated.
And yet.
Underneath the dry grasses and battered wildflowers…
…new life is waiting.  Mostly invisible.  But there.
In a time when much of our normal routine is closed off to many of us—our
work, the coffee shop, the banality of “normal”—we have the sky…
…the beauty of clouds…
…the sound of a stream running…
…and the return of birds.
I feel a renewed sense of gratitude for what we have. Our families.
Our friends, even when we don’t see them face to face. The joys of a sunrise.
Longer daylight hours. The delights of the natural world, coming to life.
Greening up.
Each day is a gift. The days have never seemed more precious than now.

The Peace of Wild Things (Wendell Berry)
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives might be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief.  I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.  For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.