it is a clear night where I am. I just came inside. I was out beneath the silent world of the stars, my mind wandering deep and wide.
It's been a long time since I wrote anything here....lots of traveling. Over 10,000 miles, more than 20 states in these 4 weeks.
I have a glass of wine sitting here beside me. A fly has been dancing upon its rim for the past several minutes. Perhaps a little too much vapour, she just took a dive into the glass. Drunken fly in my red wine. Before I rescue her from her own revere, I leave you this poem by Mary Oliver...
The Summer Day
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 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?
Mary Oliver
Mmmm. Yes, indeed.
Have a blessed day and night.
And to your one wild and precious life....amen
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