perfect reminder, fleeting moments of glory, as the life of the Earth goes on…
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries – roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay – how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.
Mary Oliver, as many of you will know was masterful in describing the natural world and its changing seasons. Sometimes I think I must have read all of her poems but here is one new to me, such a delight. This year not quite gone but leaving its rich, spiced residues
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