The hummingbirds returned last evening and I mowed my lawn for the first time today. I left some edges to make the transition to woods and now wait for this newly-forming meadow to discover the wildflower possibilities there. The birds are singing like it's the very first spring, as the sheets on the line breathe in, and then out. It's a perfect spring day and I just discovered this Mary Oliver poem.
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbirds -
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these lovely body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
~ Mary Oliver
Winslow Homer "Fresh air"