Thursday, October 07, 2010

Thursday Poem - 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
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, from American Primitive


One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

The image is so beautiful. As I look at it, it makes me want to wrap a sweater around my shoulder's
and walk through the woods. As always, Mary Oliver's poems make me stop and think.

Nan said...

Isn't she just the very best?! The last part just kills me. And your picture. It is so perfect.

Tabor said...

I have just ground some fresh cinnamon from the bark of the tree and your poem fits perfectly with the smell in my kitchen. A lovely photo as always.

Lisa C said...

Beautiful! I want this one!