Happy Labor Day, all.
For a period just this short every year, I mourn.
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
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?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
-- Mary Oliver
5 comments:
There was a chill in the air last night... and I, too, had a moment of mourning. I love warmth. I love summer. For the first time in 10 years, I won't have it all year round.
I will see the leaves fall this year. And, though it will be beautiful, I still have a slightly heavy heart.
very lovely, thanks for that.
Mary Oliver completely rocks my universe--- actually, first she describes it, makes love with it, and tenderly lays it before us in words too perfect to ignore.
Oh, I love-love-LOVE that poem! And O-Blossoms, I also love your description of Mary Oliver's work. Ah, what would the world be without poets to remind us of what is sane?
Stunning photo.
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