I do not know what gorgeous thing

the bluebird keeps saying,

his voice easing out of his throat,

beak, body into the pink air

of the early morning. I like it

whatever it is. Sometimes

it seems the only thing in the world

that is without dark thoughts.

Sometimes it seems the only thing

in the world that is without

questions that can’t and probably

never will be answered, the

only thing that is entirely content

with the pink, then clear white

morning and, gratefully, says so

~Mary Oliver

simple pleasures call me gently…

inquiry for today~ wear your winter white deep in your soul..

this touchstone…

Who looks out with my eyes?

What is the soul?

I cannot stop asking.

If I could taste one sip of an answer,

I could break out of this prison for drunks.

I didn’t come here of my own accord,

and I can’t leave that way.

Whoever brought me here

will have to take me Home.

~Rumi