Mary Oliver and I have coffee this morning
she is my friend
without ever knowing my name
she writes of spring:
daffodils, swallows, snakes, storms
over mountains and sea
she uses the most fabulous words
ambled, shambled, rollicking, bravado, fuzzle
smack, blaze, looming, ratted, rutted, rumbling
words that make me laugh and marvel and want
to write poems of my own
she writes of spring
of the heart as well
wonder, joy, prayer, curiosity, alive, abundance
but also of fall
and most powerfully - winter
when all is dark, gray, shuttered
shattered by grief
soul groaning
somehow, she never loses herself in the suffering
she always returns to wonder
I am still looking for God
I am still finding him everywhere*
I hold onto this
the power of this incredible woman
to grow old in a world like ours
to see it clearly for what it is - and isn’t
and still find God in the midst of it all
She is a friend of the rarest kind.
* “On Traveling to Beautiful Places” in A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver
Comentarios