September 15, 2009

the grace of the world

My grandmother's house had a sleeping porch, and when I was little it was one of my very favorite places to sleep. She lived in south Arkansas, just 1/2 hour north of the Louisiana border; summers were sweltering, nights filled with sticky breezes and the sound of cicadas. Winters were fairly temperate, but a pile of quilts was still a delicious necessity.

This time of year - my favorite by any measure - makes me want to sleep outside. Nighttime temperatures dip down to almost cold, but the crickets and cicadas are still singing their rowdy lullabies. It's the best of both worlds.

Will our next house have a sleeping porch? I hope so!

photos:1), 2), 3),
4), 5), 6),
7), 8)


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 may 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.

— Wendell Berry

1 comment:

helle said...

Wonderful words about finding the inner peace!

Also beautiful sleeping porches, want some of those...

Greetings Helle


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