poetry week, day 4

I can say this, because the only credit I can take for the success is that I correctly followed a recipe: the maple bourbon sweet potato I made for today's pie potluck kicked total ass. Especially the version with chopped hazelnuts sprinkled under and over the filling (I ended up making two pies - I had too much filling and an extra crust, why the heck not?). And also because maybe I put in a little more bourbon than the recipe called for. And I had Grade C maple syrup from the Adventure Man's sugar bush (forget Grade A Fancy, man... and really forget Mrs. Butterworth; the "cheap" real maple syrup is where it's at). All I can say is, whoever came up with the idea for that pie was having a damn good day.

It's a non sequitur, really, but I do think that the author of today's poem would enjoy a good maple bourbon sweet potato pie. Here's to him~

The Peace of Wild things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the last 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