In Blackwater Woods
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
–Mary Oliver
Poetry seems to do more to capture my state of mind than my own words…Sometimes I feel that the silence of a particular landscape comes home inside you. That is how Ladakh feels to me now. Words will return, eventually, but for the time being I am relying on others to speak for me.
Oh, ths is so achingly beautiful a way to let what autumn is and means seep into one’s consciousness. A wonderful share this blustery morning. Thank you! G
wonderful to see – thanks
G and D, I seem to be able to count on the two of you to connect with what captures my imagination…Thanks for checking in.