I mentioned not long ago that I have a collection of Wendell Berry’s Sabbath Poems that I have been reading for years. In fact, I’ve had it and been picking it up for about as long as I have been reading Berry. That is, I have no memory of knowing Wendell Berry prior to or apart from having these poems.
And I have lately been stuck on page 201 of that copy of A Timbered Choir. The habit, common with me and poetry, is to open it and read again the last one I read before I turn the page.
And I just don’t want to turn the page.
