I’m wiped out from a day of things that I didn’t want to, but needed to deal with. Thankful that they are done and that Mary Oliver writes her marvelous words to take our minds to other places. I like to imagine this time of year what is slowly happening under our feet..all that potential snuggled down waiting for the earth to warm. I can’t wait too. This cold sucks. Haha.
Another year gone, leaving everywhere its rich spoiled residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island of this summer, this NOW, that is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries – roots and sealed seeds and the wanderings of water.
This I try to remember when time’s measure painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing to stay – how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever in these momentary pastures.