It seems that lately, I’m doing more art business than I am art! And so it must be sometimes—there is show logistics and emails and orders. I am looking forward to the Fall when I will be able to have more of a balance. So, no drawings today, but I will let Mary Oliver draw you a picture with a poem.
I love Mary Oliver—her poetry is beautifully organic and honest. She has this way of creating a beautiful natural image and then weaving it into an astounding message about life. I have mentioned her on this blog before, but recently one of her poetry books found me at a library book sale, and I felt like it was destiny!
Here’s a poem included in that book, a collection of poems about birds called Owls and Other Fantasies:
“Long Afternoon at the Edge of Little Sister Pond”
by Mary Oliver
As for life,
I’m without words
sufficient to say
how it has been hard as flint,
and soft as a spring pond,
both of these
and over and over,
and long pale afternoons besides,
and so many mysteries
beautiful as eggs in a nest,
though warm and watched over
by something I have never seen—
a tree angel, perhaps,
or a ghost of holiness.
Every day I walk out into the world
to be dazzled, then to be reflective.
It suffices, it is all comfort—
along with human love,
dog love, water love, little-serpent love,
sunburst love, or love for that smallest of birds
flying among the scarlet flowers.
There is hardly time to think about
stopping, and lying down at last
to the long afterlife, to the tenderness
yet to come, when
time will brim over the singular pond, and become forever,
and we will pretend to melt away into the leaves.
As for death,
I can’t wait to be the hummingbird,