Today, I was present in my surroundings. A snow day gift of time unfettered by life's tasks. I was surrounded by light everywhere I looked. These images evoked words and phrases. One of the gifts of being a reader is that the words we read become part of us, such is the case with Mary Oliver's poetry. Today's sights brought this poem to mind:
Mindful
by Mary Oliver
Every day
I see or I hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It is 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 untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
