By Mary Oliver
In the sea rocks,
in the stone pockets
under the tide’s lip,
in water dense as blindness
they slid
like sponges,
like too many thumbs.
I knew this, and what I wanted
was to draw my hands back
from the water – what I wanted
was to be willing
to be afraid.
But I stayed there,
I crouched on the stone wall
while the sea poured its harsh song
through the sluices,
while I waited for the gritty lightning
of their touch, while I stared
down through the tide’s leaving
where sometimes I could see them –
their stubborn flesh
lounging on my knuckles.
What good does it do
to lie all day in the sun
loving what is easy?
it never grew easy,
but at last I grew peaceful:
all summer
my fear diminished
as they bloomed through the water
like flowers, like flecks
of an uncertain dream,
while I lay on the rocks, reaching
into the darkness, learning
little by little to love
our only world.
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I did a bunch of reading on Tuesday morning, then we had lunch and walked to the beach -- the eagles are back in pairs and the coots are back in large numbers, as are the geese, with some greater white-fronted geese among the Canada geese. We got home in time for the Dodgers-Brewers game, though I took a break to watch DS9's "Sanctuary" with my usual group plus a visiting grandchild who's a big Trek fan.
Tuesday is a busy TV evening, so after dinner and the Dodgers, we watched Only Murders in the Building (with many awesome women), Slow Horses (good this week because very little Jackson), and The Morning Show (also interesting messy women, and finally addressing the lack of intersectional feminism). And I'm kind of drained from the news. From Alki Beach, starfish and the beachgoers who want to eat them:
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