THURSDAY TIDBIT.

Upon the snow that says nothing,

that is endlessly  brilliant,

there is something

heaped, dark and motionless.

Then come the many wings, strong and bold.

“Death has happened,” shout the carrion crows.

“And this is good for us.”

–Mary Oliver, Landscape in Winter

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THURSDAY TIDBIT.

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for –
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world –
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant –

but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these –
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

–Mary Oliver, Mindful

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