Learning, on yet another election night, that progress is not only not remotely linear, but that the way is often bewilderingly and heartbreakingly tortuous, I was reminded of Wendell Berry’s poem, February 2, 1968:
In the dark of the moon, in flying snow, in the dead of winter,
war spreading, families dying, the world in danger,
I walk the rocky hillside, sowing clover.

Clover is a member of the vast and ancient Fabaceae, or legume family, which has sustained all of human evolution with its protein-rich seeds. Its earliest known fossils are 56,000,000 years old. More than that, clover is a plant of deep nourishment and renewal; no random choice on Berry’s part.

For post-election solace, I turned once again to the inspiration I find in Paul Hawken’s “Blessed Unrest,” and to the millions of people who are sowing clover all over the world.