I remember once as a child dreaming that my mother came into my bedroom and sat down in a chair in the corner and folded her hands in her lap and stayed there, very calm and still. It made me feel wonderfully safe, wounderfully happy. When I woke up, there she was, sitting in that […]
I dream of a quiet man who explains nothing and defends nothing, but only knows where the rarest wild flowers are blooming, and who goes, and finds that he is smiling not by his own will. Wendell Berry, from Given: Poems.