A frosted morning, clear sky, noisy rooks. I took the long way home from the post office across the fields. The river had burst it's banks earlier in the week and the fields had turned to lakes. From my window I had imagined I was in Avalon. Now the water had receded leaving shallow still pools. The sun shone a sparkling path of light across to the other side.
The surface of the pools were frozen into beautiful patterns. Etched windows to a transient watery world beneath.
A labyrinth of tiny frozen pathways. Fused shards of water crystal, welded, woven between grass.
Lace, stitched of water glass.
So beautiful.
I imagined what might have happened before.
'The temperature dropped to below freezing so suddenly, just after the sun set. In the darkness, hidden in shadows, with only Orion for her lamp. The Snow Queen reached into her frozen pocket and retrieved a silver needle. When I was warm and deep in sleep and dreaming, she stitched. By the distant bark of fox she thread the most beautiful blanket to cover the Earth. And when the sun rose and the Robin began his song, it sparkled just as precious as any of Earths jewels. A gift to a new day'
Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for -
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world -
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant -
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these -
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass.
Mindful ~ Mary Oliver
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