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Sep. 1st, 2026 04:59 pmEach stroke of Wendell Berry's words hone me as they go by, and as he died yesterday many are going by.
Thorough and connected moral thinkers are lodestones.
My body is full of the grief of loss and the simultaneous enormous presence of his lifetime of words. My control over my body dims like brownout lights, mind flickering, everything goes to this thought/feeling of being realigned, a compass needle on a planet finally and again with a magnetic field.
When people win a hard contest they often cry in gratitude and with the feeling, finally, of having enough for awhile, and of being good enough.
My feeling is gratitude and, with Wendell Berry having lived to think deeply for so long, of having enough for awhile. We had him: he lived, and so the world has more meaning.
Thorough and connected moral thinkers are lodestones.
My body is full of the grief of loss and the simultaneous enormous presence of his lifetime of words. My control over my body dims like brownout lights, mind flickering, everything goes to this thought/feeling of being realigned, a compass needle on a planet finally and again with a magnetic field.
When people win a hard contest they often cry in gratitude and with the feeling, finally, of having enough for awhile, and of being good enough.
My feeling is gratitude and, with Wendell Berry having lived to think deeply for so long, of having enough for awhile. We had him: he lived, and so the world has more meaning.
