My online journal where I share my interests in photography, nature, coffee life, journaling, fountain pens, bicycling, spirituality and asking deep questions.
Let me keep my distance, always, from those
Mary Oliver, Evidence: Poems
who think they have the answers.
Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.
Every day
Mindful by Mary Oliver
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It was 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?
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
Mary Oliver
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
I spent an hour at one of the natural areas this afternoon. The sun felt good as I sat on the bench and looked out over the meadow, being idle and blessed. The trees along the edges of the reservoir are taking on the colors of fall, while some already stand naked of leaves. A fall wind blows in my face from the northeast. I watch clouds casting their shadows over the meadow and I could hear the prairie dogs bark as people walked along the trails. I was practicing how to pay attention.
Catbird
Mary Oliver
From one branch to another, or across the path,
he dazzles with flight.
Since I see him every morning, I have rewarded myself
the pleasure of thinking that he knows me.
Yet never once has he answered my nod.
He seems, in fact, to find in me a kind of humor,
I am so vast, uncertain and strange.
I am the one who comes and goes,
and who knows why.
Will I ever understand him?
Certainly he will never understand me, or the world
I come from.
For he will never sing for the kingdom of dollars.
For he will never grow pockets in his gray wings.
This is the last part of a poem by Mary Oliver called Catbird. I relate to this part of the poem because I have experienced such moments with Goldfinches, Robins, and Chickadees. I especially like where she writes, “Since I see him every morning, I have rewarded myself the pleasure of thinking that he knows me.” Yes, I talk to birds!
It is a cold fall morning with 43 degrees. I saw where Berthoud Pass had an overnight low of 18 degrees, so it’s actually warm here. After yesterday’s winds the cloudless skies are beautiful. This mornings full moon cast shadows across the meadow at the natural area. Now a mocha latte. Have an Awesome day!
“Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.”
Mary Oliver
My car said it was 43 degrees at 5:18 this morning. Hearing reports that the aspens are putting up some very nice colors in the higher elevations. Awoke early and spent an hour at the natural area this morning in almost complete darkness and silence. Brought along a book of poetry to provide some warmth. Yet, I was still chilled by the time I arrived at the coffee shop. As the fall season moves on I will adjust more to the colder mornings and not be near as chilled. However, I was grateful for warm socks and a mocha latte!
“Let me keep my distance, always, from those
Mary Oliver, from 𝘌𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦: 𝘗𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘴
who think they have the answers.
Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.”
Spent time yesterday morning at The Gardens on Spring Creek. They now have a Butterfly House that I was able to visit for the first time. I hesitated but it was well worth the visit. Astonishing!
After rain after many days without rain,
Mary Oliver, from Why I Wake Early
it stays cool, private and cleansed, under the trees,
and the dampness there, married now to gravity,
falls branch to branch, leaf to leaf, down to the ground
where it will disappear–but not, of course, vanish
except to our eyes. The roots of the oaks will have their share,
and the white threads of the grasses, and the cushion of moss;
a few drops, round as pearls, will enter the mole’s tunnel;
and soon so many small stones, buried for a thousand years,
will feel themselves being touched.