at blackwater pond the tossed waters have settled
after a night of rain.
i dip my cupped hands. i drink
a long time. it tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. it falls cold
into my body, waking the bones. i hear them
deep inside me, whispering
oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?
-mary oliver
grateful today for: words by mary oliver that articulate what i never can
