I sigh for September's sad departures-
long sparrows, bluebirds gone; the wrens,
packing their songs, leave gray holes in the morning
like an orchestra without flutes, playgrounds
without children. Suddenly the hummer
defects, its absence, disproportionate
to its size, like a silenced cello.
Leaves fall again, suicidal vagrants.
Loosening their handholds in despair
they rend the summer ceiling,
letting the sky pour down
and fill the vacant stage with dusk.
- Alice D'Alessio, Wisconsin Poet
from A Blessing of Trees
What I Have Learned So Far
Meditation is old and honorable, so why should I
not sit, every morning of my life, on the hillside,
looking into the shining world? Because, properly
attended to, delight, as well as havoc, is suggestion.
Can one be passionate about the just, the
ideal, the sublime, and the holy, and yet commit
to no labor in its cause? I don't think so.
All summations have a beginning, all effect has a
story, all kindness begins with the sown seed.
Thought buds toward radiance. The gospel of
light is the crossroads of -- indolence, or action.
Be ignited, or be gone.
~ Mary Oliver ~
More from Mary Oliver
Some Questions You Might Ask
How the Grass and Flowers Came to Exit