On the banks of Lake Tillery, God drenches the world in blood. And it is beautiful.
Many miles away, in my weedy yard, the ageratum opens.
The agastache – unsteady – leans.
The Rose of Sharon weeps. (Why keep your heart open?)
Mary Oliver has the answer.
Landscape
Isn’t it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about
spiritual patience? Isn’t it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?
Every morning I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.
Every morning, so far, I’m alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky—as though
all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be, and imagined
their strong, thick wings.
***
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. -Psalm 30:5






