By Mary Oliver
breaks from the blue-black
skin of the water, dragging her shell
with its mossy scutes
across the shallows and through the rushes
and over the mudflats, to the uprise,
to the yellow sand,
to dig with her ungainly feet
a nest, and hunker there spewing
her white eggs down
into the darkness, and you think
of her patience, her fortitude,
her determination to complete
what she was born to do—
and then you realize a greater thing—
she doesn’t consider
what she was born to do.
She’s only filled
with an old blind wish.
It isn’t even hers but came to her
in the rain or the soft wind,
which is a gate through which her life keeps walking.
She can’t see
herself apart from the rest of the world
or the world from what she must do
every spring.
Crawling up the high hill,
luminous under the sand that has packed against her skin.
she doesn’t dream
she knows
she is a part of the pond she lives in,
the tall tress are her children,
the birds that swim above her
are tied to her by an unbreakable string.
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Friday was about as exciting as Thursday -- got some stuff done, took a walk, picked up the car which thankfully didn't need anything complicated done to it apart from the new tire and rotating the others, plus new brake rotors. I did a couple of Pokemon raids -- one on the way home from picking up the car, one with son's girlfriend in San Francisco with a remote raid pass -- and posted a whole bunch of photos.
Vudu has 42 on sale for $5 this weekend so we bought it, but we decided to watch Infinity War and Endgame again before that to stick with the Marvel stuff (and before The Boys, which I'm not in the mood for yet, or Mulan, which I'm undecided about). Son's girlfriend has committed to a job in Seattle, so they will be moving there, which they're happy about! Brookside turtles from last weekend:
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