“When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least 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, of course.
How far do you live from such a place? A five-minute drive? Ten? What if it’s an hour? What hour-long task or worry might you gladly sacrifice for a moment of solitude and grace?
In this season, frozen waters are still waters. Let these natural rhythms be our cue: that winter is a time for rest and peace, not frenzied rush. The iced-over awaits transformation, as a living and hurried thing never can. Somewhere close by, there is a wilderness place that speaks of our own emptiness, our own frozen hope.
Find it, get there, and be. You will not be sorry.