…they opened their wings
softly and stepped
over every dark thing.
Mary Oliver
Sitting at the top of a tree near the lagoon, this lone egret seems deep in thought and as bewildered as I am about the time change; like why is it almost dark at 5pm?
Same, egret, same.
Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable. —Mary Oliver
Words by Mary Oliver – Art by Leonardo Di Aetherhart – Curated from Novelicious
The world lost Leon Russell eight years ago on November 13, 2016. He was and will always be the absolutely gorgeous Master of Space and Time. He is so very missed. I hope that our collective and continued love for Leon offers his family some small comfort as they remember his life. We will never forget him or his musical genius that still brings so much joy.
According to his mother, Leon Russell’s first words happened as a result of observing some birds…“What’s the matter little birdie, you cry?” She was shocked because Leon had never before spoken. For some reason, that sweet story touches my heart. Maybe it was a bluebird.
This Mary Oliver poem about a bluebird seems to convey what I can’t figure out how to say.
What Gorgeous Thing
I do not know what gorgeous thing
the bluebird keeps saying,
his voice easing out of his throat,
beak, body into the pink air
of the early morning. I like it
whatever it is. Sometimes
it seems the only thing in the world
that is without dark thoughts.
Sometimes it seems the only thing
in the world that is without
questions that can’t and probably
never will be answered, the
only thing that is entirely content
with the pink, then clear white
morning and, gratefully, says so. — Mary Oliver
Bluebird by Leon Russell
*Featured photo credit to Enchanted Seashells of scrub jay
WHEN I AM AMONG THE TREES
When I am 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.”
Poem by Mary Oliver
Art curated from Pinterest
“I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep today.”
I looked up to see a resting-for-just-a-minute hummingbird as he perched in the bottlebrush tree. This time I was able to quickly snap a photo before he took off. At some point, we all need stillness.
Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word.
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.
But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I’m traveling
a terrific distance.
Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.
Today by Mary Oliver
The full moon and lunar eclipse again wreaked havoc with my sleep – I woke up several times seemingly for no reason, but I looked out the window and said “goodnight, moon“, as if I were in Margaret Wise Brown’s classic book where the bunny says goodnight to various objects and creatures before drifting off to sleep.
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better. –Mary Oliver
Cinderella by Frances Brundage
“What’s magical, sometimes, has deeper roots than reason.”
Mary Oliver
Art curated from Pinterest
The world is going through some serious things, all very painful, all tragic.
One of my favorite aunts died yesterday, in her sleep. She was ninety-one years old and had a hard time coping with the death of her loving husband and a subsequent stroke. She was simply tired of being alive, even less after her youngest son recently died of cancer. Last week, her entire family (on the east coast) gathered by her side for her birthday but they said it was as if she was already transitioning, already thinning the veil between here and there or nowhere.
This Mary Oliver quote from her poem, “Invitation”, really says it all:
It is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world
It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
I rescued this treasure at the thrift store, an adorable penguin box crafted of Capiz shells from the Philippines. Used extensively for jewelry and even window panes, it’s the shell of the oyster, Placuna placenta.
The way the light hits it is stunning and artistic for such a small thing.
I love little boxes.
And bowls I can fill with owl and hawk feathers I discover in my garden or on walks.
This sort of reminds me of Mary Oliver, “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”
No darkness here as you can see, but I guess I’ll have to fill my box of nothing with something, probably and predictably rocks or seashells, and then it will no longer be a lonely box of nothing.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 