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 thouroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open and flies 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 bless, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing today.
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
I love that poem-took it out a lot last fall when Jim's brother, Tom, was dying.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing your journey with us!
ReplyDeleteOh the joy of listening in order to create a life in which you can thrive. You are an inspiration, dear friend. I'm excited to take this journey alongside you as I follow your blog.
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