Through the windowwe could see how far away it was to the gates of April.Let the fire nowput on its red hatand sing to us.— Mary Oliver, November November comes to an end, and just like that, December is at our doorstep. The ambient light of incandescent and LED bulbs make total darkness an impossibility…
One day you finally knewwhat you had to do, and began,though the voices around youkept shoutingtheir bad advice —though the whole housebegan to trembleand you felt the old tugat your ankles.“Mend my life!”each voice cried.But you didn’t stop.You knew what you had to do,though the wind priedwith its stiff fingersat the very foundations,though their melancholywas…
Your absence has gone through meLike thread through a needle.Everything I do is stitched with its color.”― W.S. Merwin, Separation Stick season brings a different kind of light with it. Trees stand like soldiers, marching across landscapes, over hills and deep into valleys. Without the cover of leaves, we see things otherwise obscured. The early…
When despair for the world grows in meand I wake in the night at the least soundin fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,I go and lie down where the wood drakerests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.I come into the peace of wild thingswho do…
My sorrow, when she’s here with me,Thinks these dark days of autumn rainAre beautiful as days can be;She loves the bare, the withered tree;She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay.She talks and I am fain to list:She’s glad the birds are gone away,She’s glad her simple worsted greyIs silver…
To live in this worldyou must be ableto do three things:to love what is mortal;to hold itagainst your bones knowingyour own life depends on it;and, when the time comes to let it go,to let it go.— Mary Oliver, In Blackwater Woods This is the time of year when the leaves release from the trees and…
“We all have an essence, something inside of us that was uniquely assigned by the universe. This goes deeper than talent and skill. It’s a calling. An inner necessity. Your essence doesn’t care about power, promotions, or possessions. It only cares about one thing: expression.If essence is who you really are, then expression is how…
“The poet doesn’t invent. He listens.” — Jean Cocteau The thing about listening is we sometimes hear things contrary to the way we’ve always done things. Do we follow this path or stick with the tried and true? What’s so true about the tried anyway? The muse isn’t the author, it’s the voice of countless…
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,even in the leafless winter,even in the ashy city.I am thinking nowof grief, and of getting past it; I feel my bootstrying to leave the ground,I feel my heartpumping hard. I want to think again of dangerous and noble things.I want to be light and frolicsome.I want to…
This is the hour, O soul, thy free flight into the wordless,Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best:Night, sleep, death, and the stars. — Walt Whitman, A Clear Midnight We each must sacrifice something in our days. Some of…