Seven Hours and Counting

Just a few more hours and I'll be on the plane...excited but nervous...still got no place to live. Good thing we have Tom's family abode to crash at for a few days. The goodbye phase is the hardest part-trading in the familiar for the jobless, homeless unknown...

Big transitions always make me think about the passing of time and all those bigger, life questions that come along with that. I found this poem kind of comforting and thought I would pass it on...


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.

from Dream Work (1986) by Mary Oliver


See you all on the flip side.

-D.