There In That Going

Sabbath Poem V
by Wendell Berry, from A Timbered Choir
[Hear Kit share this one by heart]

Always in the distance
the sound of cars is passing
on the road, the simplest form
going only two ways,
both ways away.  And I
have been there in that going.

But now I rest and am
apart, a part of the form
of the woods always arriving
from all directions home,
this cell of wild sound,
the hush of trees, singers
hidden among the leaves —

a form whose history is old,
needful, unknown, and bright
as the history of the stars
that tremble in the sky at night
like leaves of a great tree.