Since Mary Oliver’s death earlier this week I’ve been taking time before my day starts to sit by the fire with my coffee (and dear Callum curled up beside me on the loveseat) to read through her books of poetry. What’s happening is that I’m finding her words wandering around with me while I’m outdoors. Her poems articulate so clearly and simply her experience of her world that they’re opening up more for me to connect with. I only have three of her books and as I read the poems they strike me so deeply that I’m pretty sure I’ll be purchasing more.
Here is one of her simple poems that wandered around in my head this morning when I was snowshoeing in the forest with Callum.
Wind in the Pines
Is it true that the wind
streaming especially in fall
through the pines
is saying nothing, nothing at all,
or is it just that I don’t yet know the language?
- Mary Oliver
