“Where I live … perfect strangers … turn and say to each other, without embarrassment or hesitation: isn’t it beautiful!<\/p>\n
“Indeed it is. We are gifted wherever we look<\/b>….<\/p>\n
“We know there are more people coming, every year, to our personal paradise. No one, however, has yet suggested we close the bridge. And not only because of the commercial gain realized from tourism, but, I think, out of a sense of fairness — what we have in plenty, and all year, surely should be available to everyone, at least for a while. Moreover, there is always the hope and the chance that the astonishing natural beauty here will open the heart, of both tourist and resident, to a new striving after virtue: such immutable suggestive power the natural world has always had, and offers to each of us.”<\/p>\n
From Long Life, Essays and Other Writings
\n—–
\nLandscape by Mary Oliver, from Dream Work<\/p>\n
Isn’t it plain the sheets of moss, except that
\nthey have no tongues, could lecture
\nall day if they wanted about<\/p>\n
spiritual patience? Isn’t it clear
\nthe black oaks along the path are standing
\nas though they were the most fragile of flowers?<\/p>\n
Every morning I walk like this around
\nthe pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
\never close, I am as good as dead.<\/p>\n
Every morning, so far, I’m alive. And now
\nthe crows break off from the rest of the darkness
\nand burst up into the sky\u2014as though<\/p>\n
all night they had thought of what they would like
\ntheir lives to be, and imagined
\ntheir strong, thick wings.<\/p>\n
The Writer’s Almanac – MARCH 21 – 27, 2005<\/a><\/p>\n Poet: Mary Oliver – All poems of Mary Oliver<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" “Where I live … perfect strangers … turn and say to each other, without embarrassment or hesitation: isn’t it beautiful! “Indeed it is. We are gifted wherever we look…. “We know there are more people coming, every year, to our personal paradise. No one, however, has yet suggested we close the bridge. And not only … Continue reading Where I Live, by Mary Oliver<\/span>