The Summer Day
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Bamboo in Nanjing,China
Mary Oliver: I am breathing
Breathing just a little
life flows
without thought
of each moment passing
away
draining into the next
every drop of anticipation
sucked dry
of life's rich bounty
unfolding
in the unexpected joy
of being alive.
Breathing together
of all things
I find myself
awakened
revelling in every drop
of anticipation
dripping wet in the ripe, rich fruit
of life
flowing
effortlessly
into the unexpected joy
of being alive.
