Rest/relax

Let's REST

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”          ― John Lubbock, The Use Of Life

Turtlepond in Central Park in Manhattan, New York City, USA source

Where do you go to rest from your cares and/or the cares of the world?  And how do you do it?  I may lie down in the shade of a tree, but not rest at all.  Others rest on a crowded beach in full sun, or find rest from work and thinking in play or in an art like yoga or tai chi.  Another place of rest is in a poem like Wendell Berry's (below) or other poems and songs that we return to again and again.

Today's prompt is to write a poem about rest.  You might want to pay tribute to another writer who provides rest for you. Or write a poem that invites us to rest.  Or write a poem that describes a great rest you've had. 

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The Peace of Wild Things  
by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in 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.

(Hear it read by Wendall Berry at this link.)

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Dawn

By Ella Higginson

The soft-toned clock upon the stair chimed three—

   Too sweet for sleep, too early yet to rise.

   In restful peace I lay with half-closed eyes,

Watching the tender hours go dreamily;

The tide was flowing in; I heard the sea

   Shivering along the sands; while yet the skies

   Were dim, uncertain, as the light that lies

Beneath the fretwork of some wild-rose tree

Within the thicket gray. The chanticleer

   Sent drowsy calls across the slumbrous air;

   In solemn silence sweet it was to hear

My own heart beat . . . Then broad and deep and fair—

   Trembling in its new birth from heaven’s womb—

   One crimson shaft of dawn sank thro’ my room.

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Here's a Constructive Rest recording that I find useful for getting my body to rest from the tension of moving in the world.  It is from a discipline called Alexander Technique.  The instructor is Imogen Ragone:

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Please link one poem that is your response to this prompt.  

After you link your poem, please visit others,

and

Don't forget to include this link in your post.