It’s Saturday. Here’s a beautiful poem by Wendell Berry:
On summer evenings we sat in the yard,
the house dark, the stars bright overhead.
The laps and arms of the old
held the young. As we talked we knew
by the dark distances of Heaven’s light
our smallness, and the greatness of our love.
Now from that upland once surrounded
by the horizon of unbroken dark, we
(who were children only a life ago)
see reflected on the clouds the lights
of three cities, as if we offer to the sky
some truth of ours that we are certain of,
as if we will have no light
but our own, and thus make illusory
all the light we have.