Some girlfriends had a laugh last night about the prior post, in which I mentioned I was writing to keep our mothers connected from afar, then proceeded to swear repeatedly like the sailor/cook that I was long ago. All about that era has mellowed, except the foul mouth, which I find oh so satisfying to use at choice moments. And a lot of other moments as well. I know I swear too much, and I don't really think fixing it is one of the important personal improvements on my list of pressing personal improvements. So...
Anyway, I saw this poem this morning and it spoke to me.
A THOUSAND MORNINGS
All night my heart makes its way
however it can over the rough ground
of uncertainties, but only until night
meets and then is overwhelmed by
morning, the light deepening, the
wind easing and just waiting, as I
too wait (and when have I ever been
disappointed?) for redbird to sing.
by Mary Oliver
Mary Oliver is such an for centering thoughts. I laughed to see the comment about your girlfriends' reactions to the prior post as I too was struck by the juxtaposition of the mother comment and the heartfelt choice of words, but thought perhaps I was showing my age or being stodgy....Your writing is a generous gift for those of us to far to be much help. Stay strong, Pegeen
ReplyDeleteMary Oliver is my favorite living poet.
ReplyDeleteI did not even think about your choice of words in your prior post as they communicated what you were feeling.
Your writing is very important to me also. Keep at it!
love,
Kay
I adore Mary Oliver.
ReplyDeleteI adore you.
I even adore your profanity.