The Timbered Choir

I go among the trees and sit still.

All my stirring becomes quiet around me like circles of water.

My tasks lie in their places where i left them, asleep like cattle.

 

Then what is afraid of me comes and lives a while in my sight.

What it fears in me leaves me, 

and the fear of me leaves it.

It sings, and I hear its song.

 

Then what I am afraid of comes.

I live for a while in its sight.

What it fears in it leaves it,

and the fear of it leaves me.

It sings, and I hear its song.

 

After days of labor,

mute in my consternations,

I hear my song at last,

and I sing it. 

As we sing the day turns, the trees move.

 

-wendell berry

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