"I come into the peace of wild things.." is my favourite line from this fantastic poem by Wendell Berry, and you can hear his gorgeous reading of it here, The Peace of Wild Things. The space and emotion in his voice takes me back to the wild places and 'wild things' in Canada, and nearly 18 months on, I still dream of the magic of that month on the edge of forest and Great Lake up on the Bruce Peninsula, stepping over snakes and hearing the strange morning cries of cranes in the half-dark dawning. And of those evening journeys, paddling out into the basin after the long day was done and resting there awhile, watching and listening, watching two moons and the pushed ripple of a beaver along the shore swimming out to gnaw holes in the deep blue dusk.
Wingfield Basin, Bruce Peninsula, 2016
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