Ida sent me this Mary Oliver poem....
and it's all that needed today.
Mindful
by Mary Oliver
Every day
I see or I hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in a haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for -
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
Yes, and yes, and yes again.
ReplyDeleteToday: the way my shadow walked a fence, the invitation of two ottomans side by side leading Dave and me to our Saturday date night viewing of an episode of Doc Martin, a photograph of myself at age 20 as a leader of a cabin of young girls at summer camp.
Yes, and yes, and yes again!
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