Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety –
best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light –
good morning, good morning, good morning.
Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.
Morning Poem by Mary Oliver
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves to the high branches —
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands
of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails
for hours, your imagination
And if your spirit
carries within it
that is heavier than lead —
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging —
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted —
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
I’ve been having this recurring dream for months now. Once again last night I visited the golden and misty apple orchard of my subconscious. Once again the picnic was laid, and I could see children playing and hear them laughing in the farthest reaches of my imaginings. And once again I was not alone, but I couldn’t tell you who was there.
These dreams always make me all nostalgic and melancholy. I wake up pining for something, but I couldn’t say what. And so I decided Mary Oliver, she’s the cure (as poetry so often is). I thought I would share these with you all, since they are so very relevant.
I wonder where life’s road will take me today?