A month or so ago, when life seemed particularly bad, I decided to read Mary Oliver to cheer myself up. Bad, bad, bad idea. When one is sitting in an ‘open’ office, in a gray cubicle, with no windows, no idea of the time outside or the direction one is facing, it is very very bad idea. I only depressed myself more and had to click the page closed in a bit of a hurry before misery began leaking.
Now that I am back replete from the mountains and escape to even more good times seems close at hand, reading her is :-). Sitting by my window with the gurgle of pigeons nearby and a view of a sky amorphously light grey with cloud it is 🙂 :-). Listing the first of my reads below for the lazy but for more click on …
A Dream of Trees
There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company.
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.
There is a thing in me still dreams of trees,
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him tell it.
Meanwhile I bend my heart toward lamentation
Where, as the times implore our true involvement,
The blades of every crisis point the way.
I would it were not so, but so it is.
Who ever made music of a mild day?