For reasons I don't fully understand, just as a low-pressure weather front has enveloped The Shire, so too, a heaviness presses down on my spirit. During such times, I lean heavily on prayer and sit quietly listening for the encouragement of God's quiet voice. I expect the Comforter to speak comfort through His word, through poetry, through music, and through my senses. It's not a demand. It's an expectation.
I found this poem by Wendell Berry. Maybe this poem found me...
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water,
and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
~ Wendell Berry, Collected Poems