Mary Oliver’s divine whisper ~ it is no small gift.
by Mary Oliver
Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word.
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.
But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I’m traveling
a terrific distance.
Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.
… from A Thousand Mornings. © The Penguin Press, 2012.
Stop (when you shop)
especially if you’re rueing the rickety food cart
caught in a late April frost heave in the market lot.
So when I hear the high thin whistles of 20 Cedar Waxwings—
silky, shiny brown, gray, lemon-yellow,subdued crest,
rakish black mask, and red wax droplets on their wing feathers
–gorging on fermented cherries
(planted by a hydrogen-cell powered Stop and Shop)
I pop Ghirarrdellis,
look & listen.
Cedar Waxwings at the EAST MAIN ST. TORRINGTON Stop and Shop Parking Lot ( A DUST OF SNOW FROM THE HEMLOCK TREE 420 CHARACTER, 9-LINE POEM BY PATTY)
Letters in the sky over one of my favorite strips of sand
The way we were…
…but time has rewritten every line.
Today, she’d be flying the plane.
Any skywriters out there? Educate me!
See more photos with letters here.