A FRIEND posted this poem, which I had not seen. A message for our worrisome times:
“I Worried" by Mary Oliver
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading, or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.”
-- From "Swan" (2012. Her 20th book)
And now she needs to worry no more. But we shall miss her songs...
Since much of this blog was composed during summer vacation, I've neglected those important "other" seasons at home. In the past year, I've also become enchanted with the passing seasons, as catalogued by the above example from amazing Grant Snider. He's a delightful artist, down-to-earth and airborne philosopher, and author of the amazing "The Shape of Ideas" -- a book that can change your life. He was also an orthodontist, when last I looked, to pay the bills. You can follow his work at his website and the social media sites listed there. You can even make a donation at Patreon if you want to support his creative urges.
***
So here we are, sitting among the bare trees in mid-January, waiting for the wallop of the winter's first storm. Rushing to pick up the last of the downed tree limbs, store anything that needs to be put in its place, filling the bird feeders, wishing there had been more time in the fall...
Now we will hunker indoors, and watch the show through the sliding doors that overlook our frozen landscape. And wait for birds to swoop down from the trees to snatch their seeds. As the squirrels leap from bare branch to branch.
