Days like this are all too fleeting ... they'll vanish in the next couple of weeks. So it's that much more important to use them wisely and I'm sure y'all know what that means here on my corner of Katy! I'll catch y'all later ... I'm leaving you with this poem from Mary Oliver.
Reckless Poem
Today again I am hardly myself.
It happens over and over.
It is heaven-sent.
It flows through me
like the blue wave.
Green leaves - you may believe this or not-
have once or twice
burst from the tips of my fingers
somewhere
deep in the woods,
in the reckless seizure of spring.
Though, of course, I also know that other song,
the sweet passion of one-ness.
Just yesterday I watched an ant crossing a path, through the
tumbled pine needles she toiled.
And I thought: she will never live another life but this one.
And I thought: if she lives her life with all her strength
is she not wonderful and wise?
And I continued this up the miraculous pyramid of everything
until I came to myself.
And still, even in these northern woods, on these hills of sand
I have flown from the window of myself
to become white heron, gray whale,
fox, hedgehog, camel.
Oh, sometimes already my body has felt like the body of a flower.
Sometimes already my heart is a red parrot, perched
among strange, dark trees, flapping and screaming.
--- From NEW AND SELECTED POEMS, VOLUME TWO, 2005
It happens over and over.
It is heaven-sent.
It flows through me
like the blue wave.
Green leaves - you may believe this or not-
have once or twice
burst from the tips of my fingers
somewhere
deep in the woods,
in the reckless seizure of spring.
Though, of course, I also know that other song,
the sweet passion of one-ness.
Just yesterday I watched an ant crossing a path, through the
tumbled pine needles she toiled.
And I thought: she will never live another life but this one.
And I thought: if she lives her life with all her strength
is she not wonderful and wise?
And I continued this up the miraculous pyramid of everything
until I came to myself.
And still, even in these northern woods, on these hills of sand
I have flown from the window of myself
to become white heron, gray whale,
fox, hedgehog, camel.
Oh, sometimes already my body has felt like the body of a flower.
Sometimes already my heart is a red parrot, perched
among strange, dark trees, flapping and screaming.
--- From NEW AND SELECTED POEMS, VOLUME TWO, 2005
Comments
Barbara
Gail, I hadn't heard of Mary Oliver until Tom Spencer recited her poem at the first Spring Fling. I am in awe of her.
Just read through your last few posts on the designer's progress--your garden is really looking good!