Mother, in her barn, where she sleeps on bales of hay

“Shall we do without hope? Some days

there will be none. But now, to the dry and

dead woods floor

they come again, the first flowers of the year,

the assembly of the faithful, the beautiful,

wholly given to being.

And in this long season

of machines and mechanical will

there have been small human acts of compassion,

acts of care, work,

flowerlike in selfless loveliness

Leaving hope to the dark,

and to a better day,

receive these beauties freely

given, and give thanks.”

– Wendell Berry,  “Leaving.”