TOUCH WOOD

How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,
Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;

Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,
But not an eye can find its way to see.

The sunbeams scarce molest me with a smile,
So thick the leafy armies gather round;

And where they do, the breeze blows cool the while,
Their leafy shadows dancing on the ground.

Full many a flower, too, wishing to be seen,
Perks up its head the hiding grass between.-

In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be;
Where all the noises, that on peace intrude,
Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee,
Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.



John Clare:  In Hilly-Wood
From The Village Minstrel, 1821



Note:  Waking early, in dark still, re-centering after last night's peculiarly rancorous presidential debate, I'm hoping for a peaceful Pennsylvania woodland day close to Paoli, home of wood master (sculpture; furniture; woodcuts) Wharton Esherick.  Touch wood always.