It’s been a busy week on (and off) the farm, full of green tomato relish, goat escapes, and adventures up the coast to research my new book project, the Food Lovers’ Guide to Maine. Don’t worry, we’ll fill you in on all the excitement later. In the midst of the bustle, here’s a quieting poem for the weekend, my favorite by Rainer Maria Rilke.
Slowly now the evening changes his garments
held for him by a rim of ancient trees;
you gaze: and the landscape divides and leaves you,
one sinking and one rising toward the sky.
And you are left, to none belonging wholly,
not so dark as a silent house, nor quite
so surely pledged unto eternity
as that which grows to star and climbs the night.
To you is left (unspeakably confused)
your life, gigantic, ripening, full of fears,
so that it, now hemmed in, now grasping all,
is changed in you by turns to stone and stars.