let me be with these fading roses

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The more that falls away,

the more knit I am to things

before they speak; drawn into

the waters of silence. When I

listen carefully, I am drawn be-

low the words of those speaking,

into the current using them, as the

wind uses a reed to get animals to

stop chewing and widen their

eyes. I once followed sunset

into a purple marsh and

stepping on a fallen log,

the tangled brush tugged

the trees to sway. Hundreds

of cranes lifted and I was

un-done. I am now devoted

to the lost step that brings

us into the open.

 ~Mark Nepo

where we experience sorrow is our deepest touchstone……..heart beating close….funny how it feels like the heart of our beloved…..

M. and I have plagued each other with our differences for more than forty years. But it is also a tonic. Along with the differences that abide in each of us, there is also in each of us the maverick, the darling stubborn one who won’t listen, who insists, who chooses preference or the spirited guess over yardsticks or even history. I suspect this maverick is somewhat what the soul is, or at least that the soul lives close by and companionably with its agitating and inquiring force. And of course all of it, the differences and the maverick uprisings, are part of the richness of life. If you are too much like myself, what shall I learn of you, or you of me? I bring home sassafras leaves and M. looks and admires. She tells me how it feels to float in the air above the town and the harbor, and my world is sweetened by her description of those blue miles. The touch of our separate excitements is another of the gifts of our life together. ~Mary Oliver

as summer fades

From the complications of loving you

I think there is no end or return.

No answer, no coming out of it.

Which is the only way to love,  isn’t it?

This isn’t a playground, this is

earth, our heaven, for a while.

Therefore I have given precedence

to all my sudden, sullen, dark moods

that hold you in the center of my world.

And I say to my body: grow thinner still.

And I say to my fingers, type me a pretty song.

And I say to my heart: rave on.

~Mary Oliver

 

2 thoughts on “let me be with these fading roses

  1. The contrasts in black and white and the blend of colors makes art and photography a metaphor for life and loving. What would we differentiate in our seeing, or our hearing of harmonies and dissonance in song and song… And with those contrasts how would we know our differences and our connections… Yes, these are the mysteries of life …

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