It is our nature not only to see
That the world is beautiful
But to stand in the dark, under the stars,
Or at noon, in the rainfall of light,
Frenzied,
Wringing our hands,
Half-mad, saying over and over:
What does it mean, that the world is beautiful—
What does it mean?
Mary Oliver: The Leaf and the Cloud
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Heirloom
The market on the eastern slope surveys A place in Minnesota that I love: Looks past the barns, past where the tire swing sways, And the far...
-
It's already mid-June, and here I am in Hudsonville (the library--my oldest, dearest haunt), bereft of full time employment, my life a s...
-
The cranberry red minivan had acquired a shimmy in recent years--a fact that its driver, Abraham, regarded in much the same way he regarded ...
-
Seven years ago, I would have emphatically denied the possibility that a day would come when I would sit at the piano and feel, as I ran up ...
No comments:
Post a Comment