I’ve taken myself to the beach for the first time in a long while: craving the sea. It does not disappoint, doing the same thing it always does. Keeping its promises. Today, holding its temper: a cheerful churn at the shore.


In the earliest morning light, the morning glories open in the snow.

I’ve been thinking about moles (weirdly!) as I walk on the beach, considering the next chapter of my life.

Here’s the poem by Mary Oliver that’s gotten under my skin…

Moles

Under the leaves, under
the first loose
levels of earth
they’re there — quick
as beetles, blind
as bats, shy
as hares but seen
less than these —
traveling
among the pale girders
of appleroot,
rockshelf, nests
of insects and black
pastures of bulbs
peppery and packed full
of the sweetest food:
spring flowers.
Field after field
you can see the traceries
of their long
lonely walks, then
the rains blur
even this frail hint of them —
so excitable,
so plush,
so willing to continue
generation after generation
accomplishing nothing
but their brief physical lives
as they live and die,
pushing and shoving
with their stubborn muzzles against
the whole earth,
finding it
delicious.

***

Categorized in:

Pepper and Poems

Tagged in:

, ,