This morning as I traveled into work, I passed by a pond where Canadian geese often stop for a layover or take up residency for the winter. As I approached, I noticed that the flock appeared to be glistening in the rising sun. I realized their backs were coated in frost–tiny ice crystals reflecting morning rays.
I wondered what it must be like to be those birds waking in the sunrise, amidst cold, hoary feathers and yet being warmed by the light of a new day. ~cameron
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
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