Yellow godlight from a neighborhood tree... This is for you... ;-)
In Blackwater Woods By Mary Oliver, from "American Primitive" Look, the trees |
are turning |
their own bodies |
into pillars |
of light, |
are giving off the rich |
fragrance of cinnamon |
and fulfillment, |
the long tapers |
of cattails |
are bursting and floating away over |
the blue shoulders |
of the ponds, |
and every pond, |
no matter what its |
name is, is |
nameless now. |
Every year |
everything |
I have ever learned |
in my lifetime |
leads back to this: the fires |
and the black river of loss |
whose other side |
is salvation, |
whose meaning |
none of us will ever know. |
To live in this world |
you must be able |
to do three things: |
to love what is mortal; |
to hold it |
against your bones knowing |
your own life depends on it; |
and, when the time comes to let it |
go, |
to let it go. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ |
2 comments:
Beautiful.
The letting it go is the killer. My favorite author, Margaret Deland, spent her writing career unsuccessfully trying to reconcile the existence of love and death in the same reality. The photo is beautiful (a hickory, perhaps?). You don't see pines (a loblolly, maybe?) like that in the Willamette Valley. There are, of course, lodgepoles and Ponderosas, but I'll always miss short-leafs, long-leafs, and loblollies.
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