Just Life

In Celebration of Summer.

from this morning’s (almost dark) early morning walk

While I Am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer, the Meadowlark Begins to Sing 

Sixty-seven years, oh Lord, to look at the clouds,
the trees in deep, moist summer,  

daisies and morning glories
opening every morning 

their small, ecstatic faces –
Or maybe I should just say 

how I wish I had a voice
like the meadowlark’s,  

sweet, clear, and reliably
slurring all day long  

from the fencepost, or the long grass
where it lives  

in a tiny but adequate grass hut
beside the mullein and the everlasting,  

the faint-pink roses
that have never been improved, but come to bud  

then open like little soft sighs
under the meadowlark’s whistle, its breath-praise,

its thrill-song, its anthem, its thanks, its
alleluia. Alleluia, oh Lord.

~Mary Oliver

Hope your longest day of the year is a good one!

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