"Morning Poem"
Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves to the high branches ---
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands
of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails
for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it
the thorn
that is heavier than lead ---
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging ---
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted ---
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
~ Mary Oliver ~
This is where my journey west ultimately led - to West Beach on Calvert Island on the central British Columbia coast, within the Great Bear Rainforest, and where north America plunges down into the Pacific. This is the region where the Heiltsuk, Wuikinuxv, Nuxalk, and Kitasoo First Nations live. This is where, with friends and colleagues, I can now stare out from the lush green of the land into the uninterrupted abyss of the ocean. It is where we all smile and marvel, but above all are inspired by the patterns, rhythms, and fabric of a place. A place that is continuing a timeless transition of reinvention.
This is what I wanted.
"The Morning Walk"
There are a lot of words meaning thanks.
Some you can only whisper.
Others you can only sing.
The pewee whistles instead.
The snake turns in circles.
the beaver slaps his tail
on the surface of the pond.
The deer in the pinewoods stamps his hoof.
Goldfinches shine as they float through the air.
A person, sometimes, will hum a little Mahler.
Or put arms around old oak tree,
Or take out lovely pencil and notebook to find a few
touching, kissing words.
~ Mary Oliver ~
