I like to think Wendell Berry saw me coming
when he wrote about the wood drake,
thought of me all those years before my birth 
as he penned to life the great heron, feeding, continuing
in anticipation of the day that I would wake thinking
of my own life and my children’s lives, in anticipation
of the day I could water gardens with tears,
every breath a prayer

——-
*with thanks to The Peace of Wild Things and Wendell Berry