From the poet Mary Oliver, passed along to us by Ric Hudgens
Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needlein the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and overin joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant —
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you helpbut grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable lightof the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?