Today

As I move back and forth in my gardens,  I marvel at the plants basking in the sun.  A perfume made up of all the growing things makes me feel nostalgic.  Somehow, the scent reminds me of home.

THE MOTH, THE MOUNTAINS,

THE RIVERS

Who can guess the luna's sadness who lives so

briefly?  Who can guess the impatience of stone

longing to be ground down, to be part again of 

something livelier?  Who can imagine in what

heaviness the rivers remember their original

clarity?

Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile

time with them.  And I suggest them to you also,

that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life

be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as

you feel how it actually is, that we - so clever, and

ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained -- are only

one design of the moving, the vivacious many.

Mary Oliver,  A Thousand Mornings