"Praise the light of late November,
the thin sunlight that goes deep in the bones.
Praise the crows chattering in the oak trees;
though they are clothed in night, they do not despair.
Praise what little there's left:
the small boats of milkweed pods, husks, hulls,
shells, the architecture of trees.
Praise the meadow of dried weeds:
yarrow, goldenrod, chicory,
the remains of summer.
Praise the blue sky that hasn't cracked.
Praise the sun slipping down behind the beechnuts,
praise the quilt of leaves that covers the grass:
Scarlet Oak, Sweet Gum, Sugar Maple.
Though darkness gathers,
praise our crazy fallen world;
it's all we have, and it's never enough."
Barbara Crooker - Radiance