Welcome to Sunday Poetry. If this is your first visit you can read about the purpose and inspiration of my Sunday blogs here.
What’s your part? Just slow down a little and come along for the read–or sometimes, for the listen. No analysis needed or required. Let the poem sink in and move you wherever it may. If you’d like to tell us what the day’s poem means in your life, or what word or phrase you’ve chosen to reflect on in the coming week, or where those reflections have taken you, we would be honored to have your comment.
A Timbered Choir by Wendell Berry talks about one exquisite moment in an “ordinary” place. “. . . and around it the whole field filled with chicory in bloom, blue as the sky reflected in the pond.” I was in my mid-twenties before I saw wild chicory in bloom in Southwest Virginia. I could not imagine anything so lovely entwined and blooming with Queen Anne’s lace by country roadsides, weeds some called it, but not me. Never, never me. Chicory still thrills me, as it thrilled Wendell Berry.
What might you find at home that is more significant, more heartbreakingly beautiful, than anything you saw when you searched in other places?