I know, you never intended to be in this world.

But you’re in it all the same.

So why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it.

There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.

Bless the eyes and the listening ears.

Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.

Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.

Or not.

I am speaking from the fortunate platform

of many years,

none of which, I think, I ever wasted.

Do you need a prod?

Do you need a little darkness to get you going?

Let me be as urgent as a knife, then,

and remind you of Keats,

so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,

he had a lifetime.

~Mary Oliver

when the bluest blue helps us to love winter light….

inquiry for today~ can it be that you know blue too?

we know this….

We are so brief. A one-day dandelion. A seedpod skittering across the ice.

We are a feather falling from the wing of a bird.

I don’t know why it is given to us to be so mortal and to feel so much.

It is a cruel trick, and glorious.

~Louise Erdrich