A Timbered Choir

A collection of Sabbath poems by Wendell Berry, worthy of reading first thing in the quiet of the morning, they still the soul to listen. 

I go among trees and sit still.

All my stirring becomes quiet

around me like circles on water.

My tasks lie in their places

where I left them, asleep like cattle.

~Stanza I of the First Poem. 

Feeding young Elliana oatmeal. Not because she couldn't do it herself; some sort of communion was going on there.