Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup.
I like simple in my profound. And profound in my simple. My mind gravitates toward the deep end, can get bored in the shallow for too long. But some things I prefer not to think about, but just to imbibe. Take in. And smile.
Sunrises. Sunsets. Hammocks. Barns. Stars. Barns and stars. Put those two things together and I can go on bliss autopilot. And with a shout out to @SpaceAttraction for pulling these few, I appreciate the soul candy.
... And we pray, not for new
earth or heaven, but to be quiet
in heart, and in eye clear.
What we need is here.
I have said before that barns are like churches for me, they frequently stop me in my tracks and make me stare. And I can't count how many times I have walked home at night, or gone out into a field and just stared up. I don't know constellations, I can't calculate light years, the science is lost on me. Happily.
So this morning, let's combine barns and stars with a writer who gets both, and whose writing I would put in the same category: simply profound and profoundly simple. Wendell Berry. His words are in italics.
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.