mary oliver galore

I'm afraid it's officially going to be Mary Oliver week over here. I can't get enough.

My mind can't hold it all and it's going to spill out into my every word unless I share it somewhere.

And really, I have a feeling you're going to enjoy her work as much as I have.


Can You Imagine?

For example, what the trees do
not only in lightning storms
or the watery dark of a summer's night
or under the white nets of winter
but now, and now, and now - whenever
we're not looking. Surely you can't imagine
they don't dance, from the root up, wishing
to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting
a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly
more shade - surely you can't imagine they just
stand there loving every
minute of it, the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings
of the years slowly and without a sound
thickening, and nothing different unless the wind,
and then only in its own mood, comes
to visit, surely you can't imagine
patience, and happiness, like that.


Ah, my heart skips a beat.