Wordwoman

April 13, 2013
I thought spring was here but it was just a tease.  There are sprouts peeking up in the cracked earth and it still freezes at night.  How brave these little sprouts who in just a few weeks will be basking in the hot sun while they shoot up to that bright sky.
Life is so interesting with eyes open.  I have been reading a lot of Mary Oliver of late.  I have always loved her writing; really connected with it.  Often I have felt that she was writing straight to my heart.  There is so much beauty and wonder when I stop and observe.  There are so many gifts when I put fear aside and open myself.  Sprouts, birds, music, poetry, children, fresh eggs, the goats and the llama - they all hold deep secrets of joy - their gift to me.  The richness of March, each mild day sweeter than before, then the chill winds again and cold that bites my nose but April is here and each day I know there is a blessing in the air for me. Turn over the earth in the inner garden...planting seeds of "simplicity"in the fertile soil of our souls. Yes!  So grateful for the seeds, the gifts, the soil and the awareness of soul.

This particular poem of Mary Oliver touched me so very deeply that I want to share it.

The Lamps  

Eight o'clock, no later, 

you light the lamps. 

The big one by the large window,

The small one on your desk. 

They are not to see by- 

It is still twilight over the sand

The scrub oaks and cranberries.

Even the small birds have not settled yet.

For sleep yet of the reach 

of prowling foxes. No. 

You light the lamps because 

you are alone in your small house

And the wicks sputtering gold

Are like two visitors with good stories

They will tell you slowly, in soft voices

While the air outside turns quietly 

A grainy and luminous blue.

You wish it would never change -

but of course the darkness keeps 

Its' appointment. Each evening, 

an inscrutable presence, it has the final word

Outside every door.

                                                           From Twelve Moons

Tonight I will say a quiet prayer, thank the day, the spirit that gave it, the world that held me the lovers that sustained me and light the lamp on the table by the window and the one on my desk and listen to the voices.