gratitude

The sounds of engines leave the air.

The Sunday morning silence comes

at last.  At last I know the presence

of the world made without hands,

the creatures that have come to be 

out of their absence.  Calls

of flicker and jay fill the clear

air.  Titmice and chickadees feed

among the green and the dying leaves.

Gratitude for the gifts of all the living 

and the unliving, gratitude which is

the greatest gift, quietest of all,

passes to me through the trees.

~ Wendell Berry

from Leavings