Reading: Imagination in Place, by Wendell Berry
Thinking: The ground outside my windows is covered in four inches of snow and for the first time in months I am lying in bed in the morning with a book. It's odd that it has taken me this long to read Wendell Berry--almost an intentional distance in order to differentiate my thoughts from his, just as it might take years for one to start singing the songs ones grandmother sang.
What I've noticed so far: how transparent his thinking is (for more on transparency in non-fiction I highly recommend this essay by Jennifer Bowen Hicks in Brevity); how political; how well read. There's no uninformed romanticism of living off the land here, or oversimplification, rather the pragmatism of a farmer who also toils with thoughts and words and the interminable question of how to live a good life. "Imagination" for Berry is no lighthearted jaunt through the trial and tribulations of the everyday, rather it's the necessary alternative to the cycle of violence that we, as a nation, have been trapped in since the Civil War.
Not a light read for this light and snow filled morning, but I find my heart reverberant with reverence for this ground around me and the virtue of the words we find to make sense of our lives upon it.