Monday, August 24, 2015



Every day
I see or hear
That more or less 

kills me 
with delight
That leaves me
Like a needle 

In a 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 untrimmabke light

of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

~ Mary Oliver~
(Why I Wake Early)

1 comment:

  1. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.