The news over the last seven days has been unbearable — even harder to take than in the previous 144 days. Unthinkable actions and statements pile on top of those that came before in a dizzying accumulation. Refusing deep attention to the news only works minimally, because it’s inescapable and follows us everywhere. Even a quick sideways glance at headlines, or unwittingly catching the tail end of a newscast when turning the radio on for music, is enough to create enormous anxiety for our world and the human race.
So last week I was definitely looking forward to being on Cape Cod for a time — rising with the sun, tuning in to the ocean’s rhythm, breathing in the light of stars and fireflies. All week I gathered essentials into piles and packed to migrate south, hoping not to forget anything crucial for getting the house in order before friends and family arrived.
On Wednesday morning when I began hauling boxes and bags and luggage out to the car, I noticed the Phoebe family also appeared to be preparing for a trip. Right over our front door, four or five babies were hanging over the edge of the nest, lined up in a row as if waiting for clearance from air traffic control. But the weather was rainy and windy, and after a while it appeared the parents had decided conditions weren’t favorable for launching the youngsters on their first flights. Just as well, I thought. The next day, instead of cruising the yard stalking vulnerable fledglings, our cat would be traveling down Rte. 93 with me. The trip would be long, accompanied by endless meowing and soulful complaints, but I knew she’d be happy once we got where we were going.
Sure enough, when I opened her carrier at the new location, she shot out as she always does when we first arrive — stretching and rolling and luxuriating on the sun-warmed cement doorstep, surrounded by the music of local songbirds. (I think the one quick meow toward the end is a disapproving comment on the stepstool that interfered with her rollover onto side two!)
As daily headlines continue to shock, I count on the steadfast presence of animals to remind me that the ground is what nourishes us, as does the sky with rain & sun, and breezes carrying seed & wing. I know of no better respite from distressing world events than the poem below by Wendell Berry.
The Peace of Wild Things, by Wendell Berry
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.
Can evil reside in wildlife? Are Trump and his whisperers wildlife? Or something else? Can some of that wildlifeness rub off on us?
Thank you Clyde - so helpful and lovely. We also are holding on to our wild and wonderful world up here in Vermont. I too love the poem. Thank you