Friday, April 26, 2019

When I Am Among The Trees
by Mary Oliver

When I among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily,
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out,  "Stay awhile."

The light flows from their branches.
And they call again,  It's simple,"
they say,  "and you, too, have come
into the world to do this, to go easy,
to be filled with light, and to shine."

I'm a little weepy this morning, worried about a son who continues to crash against the world, unable to see a clear path ahead for himself, unable to there for his son, just as his own father was not there for him, history repeating itself.  It's early days I tell myself but still it breaks my heart again.

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