Every year about this time, I begin each day with a special measure of excitement and anticipation. The switch has been thrown, migration is underway, and who-knows-what avian delight will show up who-knows-where. You might wonder where I came up with the words: "avian delight." (You might also wonder where I came with the idea … Continue reading The Killdeer and the Goose
I recently posted a dual tribute to nature poet extraordinaire, Mary Oliver. I know, I know. I keep bringing her up. But we bring up our favorite poets much like we bring up our favorite composers, songwriters, and authors (and grandkids): over and over again. Ms. Oliver wrote a lovely poem entitled, "Wild Geese." Here … Continue reading Meanwhile the Wild Geese
I thought about titling this: "A Mishmash." But then I thought better. Who'd read something called "A Mishmash," anyway—sort of like: Who'd consider shopping at a place called "The Dump"? (As it turns out, many do.) So I decided on what I hope will be the more alluring title above. Which means that this blog … Continue reading A Patchwork Quilt
I think it's fair to say that most faith traditions share an important tenet, that being still and knowing go hand in hand—that being still and contemplative lead to understanding and insight. I recently posted a dual tribute to nature poet, Mary Oliver. In Jean Mackay's tribute, you'll find these words from Oliver's poem "Messenger," … Continue reading Be Still and Know
Have you spent time outdoors recently? Have you managed to pull yourself away from those ubiquitous screens? I have a tough time doing that myself sometimes. Things are changing, slowly but surely. A birdsong groundswell is underway, and "the season of singing has come." We're transitioning from winter's relative silence to spring's louder and lustier … Continue reading There Were Giants
I inserted a new first paragraph in "Back to Basics" several days after I published that blog. So for those of you who haven't read it, I include it again here: "There’s a wonderful old 'Far Side' cartoon featuring a dog, Ginger, and its owner. The owner says to the dog, 'OK, Ginger! I’ve had … Continue reading Farewell and Not Goodbye
We’ll call this an interim blog post. One of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, just passed away, and artist and naturalist–and fellow blogger–Jean Mackay, has written a wonderful tribute to her. Please see the tribute below. And click on the link at the end to see the entirety of Jean’s post, which includes examples of her exquisite artwork.
I really can’t add much to Jeans’s words, except to say that Ms. Oliver often wrote about birds. And, as someone else has pointed out, she believed that there was a “very thin membrane” separating us from birds and other animals. This reminds me of words that I shared with you earlier in my post, “Birds Provide a Bridge” (see “Yet More Reasons to Bird”): “Birds provide a bridge into the mysteries of a world the animal in us fondly remembers.”
Let me share with you, if I may, one of Mary Oliver’s bird poems. I chose this especially, and you’ll soon see the reason why.
Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard
His beak could open a bottle,
and his eyes – when he lifts their soft lids –
go on reading something
just beyond your shoulder –
or the Book of Revelation.
Never mind that he eats only
the black-smocked crickets,
and the dragonflies if they happen
to be out late over the ponds, and of course
the occasional festal mouse.
Never mind that he is only a memo
from the offices of fear –
it’s not size but surge that tells us
when we’re in touch with something real,
and when I hear him in the orchard
down the little aluminum
ladder of his scream –
when I see his wings open, like two black ferns,
a flurry of palpitations
as cold as sleet
rackets across the marshlands
of my heart
like a wild spring day.
Somewhere in the universe,
in the gallery of important things,
the babyish owl, ruffled and rakish,
sits on its pedestal.
Dear, dark dapple of plush!
A message, reads the label,
from that mysterious conglomerate:
Oblivion and Co.
The hooked head stares
from its house of dark, feathery lace.
It could be a valentine.
Happy Valentine’s Day. And thank you, as always, for reading.
“My work is loving the world.”
So begins the poem Messenger, by Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Mary Oliver, who died this week at the age of 83. Oliver delivered intimate observations of nature and deepened our understanding of life’s essence in few, choice words.
“Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums…”
And though there were no hummingbirds or sunflowers to be found here yesterday, I nevertheless felt compelled to walk down the starkly cold winter road in honor of Mary Oliver and to satisfy my own need to find what beauty might remain along the roadside.
“Let me keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
Standing still in 21-degree weather means mostly frozen fingers. Still, there is no substitute for being present; for being astonished by…
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