This fresh morning

Collared Finchbill. Photo credit:  Paul Shaffner

Collared Finchbill. Photo credit: Paul Shaffner

I count myself along the myriad who fell in love with Mary Oliver in recent years. Her poetry is a buoy when I feel overcome by the dark storms of living.

In her memory:

“Invitation” by Mary Oliver

Oh do you have time
to linger
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.

life, readingKate LSComment