“Flowers, being a representation of nature’s beauty, gained a lot of attention from the poet. If the poem is thin, it is likely so not because the poet does not know enough words, but because he or she has not stood long enough among the flowers ~ has not seen them in any fresh, exciting, and vivid way.” ~ Mary Oliver
The red tulip signifies perfect and eternal love.
Good Sunday morning, dear friends. We have enjoyed temperatures in the 60’s this week, with heavenly blue skies. Of course, this found me checking our garden friends to see who was waking from their long nap. I found many daffodils making their journey through the soil and a few peonies lazily looking for the sun. Their showing was just enough to let me know that spring is truly on its way. Which, began my head spinning with all the beauty that will arrive in due time.
As many of you may know, I am a great fan of Mary Oliver’s writing. With the birds singing in my head about the beauty of the glorious season soon to arrive, I thought perhaps Mary Oliver’s words would touch your hearts in a much more profound way than mine. So, do pour yourself a perfect coffee or tea and linger a while in the company of a marvelous talent.
“. . .Stillness. One of the doors into the temple.” ~
“Why I Wake Early” ~ by, Mary Oliver
Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and crotchety ~
best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light ~
good morning, good morning, good morning.
Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.
” Flowers are sweet. They have short, beatific lives. They offer much pleasure. There is nothing in the world that can be said against them. Sad, isn’t it, that all they can kiss is the air.” ~ Mary Oliver
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
and they open ~
pools of lace,
white and pink ~
and all day the black ants climb over them,
boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away
to their dark, underground cities ~
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,
the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
their red stems holding
all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again ~
beauty the brave, the exemplary,
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,
with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
for just a little while out of your busy
and very important day for the goldfinches
that have gathered in a field of thistles
for a musical battle, to see who can sing
the highest note, or the lowest,
or the most expressive of mirth, or the most tender?
Their strong, blunt beaks drink the air
as they strive melodiously
not for your sake and not for mine
and not for the sake of winning but for sheer delight and gratitude ~
believe us, they say, it is a serious thing
just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world.
I beg of you, do not walk by
without pausing to attend to this rather ridiculous performance.
It could mean something. It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
“You must change your life.”
Dear friends, thank you so much for your visit.
Know I wish you and yours a beautiful day.
And. . .
A Valentine’s Day full of love.