Thursday, August 23, 2007

Time for more Mary Oliver


Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about

spiritual patience? Isn't it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

Every morning I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.

Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky -- as though

all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be, and imagined
their strong, thick wings.


Diane said...

I love this ... and especially the last two stanzas...

lj said...

I'm trying to imagine my strong, thick wings ...

Kirstin said...

She is salve for me today. Thank you.

Wormwood's Doxy said...

LJ, you have no idea how much I needed this today. Thank you!

Jan said...

I love Mary Oliver. Thank you for this gem.

johnieb said...

They are what saves the world: who choose to grow/ Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.

"On Winter's Margin"

I like to read from the back.

eileen said...

Lovely LJ.

I too am trying to imagine strong, thick wings.

Never hurts to be ready and able to fly...

pj said...

Strong, thick wings for all of us.

I like this in particular: "if the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead." I was entertaining similar, if less eloquent, thoughts as I walked along the very rough Atlantic Ocean this week, looking at the little black seals who were looking back at me.