When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things
We arrived, bedraggled and with spirits dangerously low, to London Victoria around 7 a.m. after our near-eternal ride on the Night Bus from Hell. After getting as far away from our fellow passengers as quickly as possible, we got our bearings and headed for the nearest underground station so that we could drop off our bags at the hostel.
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