I’ve been watching a mourning dove on her nest. I discovered the nest while removing some dead branches from the magnolia. Rogelio and his crew got the big branches down after the ice storm. The remaining ones were smallish…
Mary Oliver
16 Articles
16
Mary Oliver shows me the way. Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does it End? There are things you can’t reach. But you can reach out to them, and all day long. The wind, the bird flying away. The idea…
His hand shook as he told the very short story of the angel who came to earth with a torch and pail. I wasn’t going to tell you this, he said, smiling, but I’ve decided to. This is what Richard…
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…
Sometimes even Mary Oliver has to get a little firm. The Poet With His Face in His Hands You want to cry aloud for your mistakes. But to tell the truth the world doesn’t need any more of that sound….
A boxwood blooms in my yard this November. Delicate white flowers rise out of its green depths. What wonder is this? On closer examination, it appears that a vine has grown up among the holes in the damaged boxwood. I…
My father’s spirit left his body in a darkened room six weeks ago. On the wings of his last breath, it ascended – a small cloud of color and energy. Believing, disbelieving – that is what my eyes saw….
Nearly a month without rain in Nashville, the trees in their autumn glory look thirsty. My pups stir up a small dust storm each time they go out, pups and dust both finding their way back into the house. The…
Dear Bacon Friends – I can’t run the interview planned for this morning due to a minor technical problem, but I’m happy to share a couple of beautiful poems from Mary Oliver’s collection A Thousand Mornings. These poems ask (me)…