We don’t know that we can love Mary Oliver anymore. Just as the temperatures rise in these parts, and schools let fly the children they’ve nurtured and shaped over the past year, and the zig zag of traffic reminds us that summer is here and we are moving more. This is a poem that reminds us to pay attention again and bask in the richness that this season provides.
We know our windows are open…inviting in the fresh summer air.
What is the good life now? Why,
look here, consider
the moon’s white crescent
rounding, slowly, over the half month to still another
perfect circle —
the shining eye
that lightens the hills,
that lays down the shadows
of the branches of the trees,
the summons the flowers
to open their sleepy faces and look up
into the heavens.
I used to hurry everywhere,
and leaped over the running creaks.
time enough for all the wonderful things
I could think of to do
in a single day. Patience
comes to the bones
before it takes root in the heart
as another good idea.
I say this
as I stand in the woods
and study the patterns
of the moon shadows,
or stroll down into the waters
that now, late summer, have also
caught the fever, and hardly move
from one eternity to another.