I was exposed to this poem by a fellow blogger and it is a serious game changer for me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but she is able to say things in the eloquent but simple way I wish I could speak. The last two lines especially give me a lump in my throat. I am going to have to find a collection of all of her poetry.
The Summer Day
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
My heart swells while reading this the same way it swells when I hear beautiful music or sing really well. Or, most recently when my daughters are playing and giggling to one another...
This is what I have needed in my frustrations with our home and my depression and jovie's asthma. A reminder of what I hold dear, what makes me feel at peace and
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