By Mary Oliver
The feet of the heron,
under those bamboo stems,
hold the blue body,
the great beak
above the shallows
of the pond.
Who could guess
their patience?
Sometimes the toes
shake, like worms.
What fish
could resist?
Or think of the cricket,
his green hooks
climbing the blade of grass—
or think of camel feet
like ear muffs,
striding over the sand—
or think of your own
slapping along the highway,
a long life,
many miles.
To each of us comes
the body gift.
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Laundry: done. Review: mostly done in case we end up going to Pennsylvania on Friday afternoon. I'm still way, way behind on correspondence and have all kinds of things to research that are stressful and inconclusive -- I don't have all the necessary facts for some of them and the people who could help are not entirely forthcoming -- but at least I have notes.
It was another gorgeous day, so after 5 we went to Great Falls to enjoy it for a couple of hours along with the herons, turtles, ducks, and geese. I don't think in all the years we've been going there we've ever seen so many bluebells. We watched a Bones episode and then Nashville to decompress, and for a change the latter really worked for me!
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