I was hungry for silence.
I longed to listen where there were no words.
I wanted poetry in a quiet language.
I went to the Botanical Garden.
I waited for words contained
in rhythm, in composition, repetition,
contrast, form. That moved along lines.
Eventually I found them.
Or they found me.
(And then, again, I am curious. For where do you go to find silence?)
(I have hit the edit button, for I need to correct the above question. My asking steers more in the direction of - What is contained within silence? Why seek it out?)
Quote from How to Be a Poet by Wendell Berry
Text and Photos © Grete S. Kempton
