To spend my time with this poem, with these words, is worth so much more to me than the empty distractions of where I often find my attention falling.

It’s a poem called the Summer Day from Mary Oliver and in it she speaks to me of my hearts desire, my great love of that magical sense of living, and not just any living, of the living of this life, the one that I have been gifted.

And yet ironically, for so much of my time I tend to forget, to lose the connection to the very essence of that which I so adore. Thankfully here, in these honest and truth-bearing words, I am brought back to myself, I am returned to the bare simplicity of what it is to really live, what it means to fall to the ground and rest my cheek on the bare earth, of what it means to simple stop a moment, to breath deeply, to feel the gentle kiss of this moment, this one, and then, as I idle and loafe, I might remind myself, I might gift myself and bring to mind the final lines of this magnificent poem…

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?


The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver