…a thoughtful reader sent this hauntingly beautiful poem of Jane Kenyon’s …
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come….
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will,
so let evening come.”
Lord, let evening and dark come.
We slip our hand into the Comforter’s
and there’s nothing to fear.
from the archives…