Thanksgiving Offering

A friend sent me this poem.   It struck me as being perfect for today.




Every day

I see or hear


that more or less



kills me

with delight,

that leaves me

like a needle



in 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 over



in 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 help



but grow wise

with such teachings

as these –

the untrimmable light



of the world,

the ocean’s shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?



-Mary Oliver


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