Monday, January 26, 2015

No longer white, not yet green

This is the way things looked this morning, as if ducks lined up for inspection.

And, from the bedroom window, just a little earlier, I spied these guys taking naps
on what would be the sunny bank if the sun wasn't clouded out. I don't know
where the girls sleep, but I have read they nest in the grasses.
And, I think it is too early for that!

Poem: The Morning Walk

There are a lot of words meaning thanks.
Some you can only whisper.
Others you can only sing.
The pewee whistles instead.
The snake turns in circles,
the beaver slaps his tail
on the surface of the pond.
The deer in the pinewoods stamps his hoof.
Goldfinches shine as they float through the air.
A person, sometimes, will hum a little Mahler.
Or put arms around an old oak tree.
Or take out lovely pencil and notebook to find a few
touching, kissing words.

Mary Oliver

Long Life; essays and other writings, Da Capo, 2004, page 83.

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