in my current line of work, it is the flowers and plants and trees... that are a constant reminder of the life cycle and mark the change in seasons so vividly. nature's way of nudging us to make every moment of everyday count. last week i shared my passion for flowers with my mom who celebrated her seventy ninth birthday and begins her eightieth year. after all she is the one with the good genes and the green thumb. you should see her garden.
{ for Norma ~ happy birthday }
Morning Poem
Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
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
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it
the thorn
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
lavishly, every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
~Mary Oliver
{ since i last posted the universe has lost a few artistic souls. some of my heroes. they shared so much while they were here... chavela vargas // anna piaggi // david rakoff }
*. . .in August in Mississippi there’s a few days somewhere about the middle of the month when suddenly there’s a foretaste of fall, it’s cool, there’s a lambence, a soft, a luminous quality to the light, as though it came not from just today but from back in the old classic times. ~ William Faulkner {Light in August}
~Mary Oliver
{ since i last posted the universe has lost a few artistic souls. some of my heroes. they shared so much while they were here... chavela vargas // anna piaggi // david rakoff }
*. . .in August in Mississippi there’s a few days somewhere about the middle of the month when suddenly there’s a foretaste of fall, it’s cool, there’s a lambence, a soft, a luminous quality to the light, as though it came not from just today but from back in the old classic times. ~ William Faulkner {Light in August}
