A Poem from Mary Oliver called “Praying”:
“It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.”
And a line from one of my favorite country songs, “Leave the Light On” by Chris Smither:
“For years, we lived in waltz time, and we danced three by three
Now it’s hard to dance, but if you stick with me
We’ve got what we need to spend the night on
Don’t wait up, leave the light on, I’ll be home soon.”
Thursday, Dec.7, on the Chilkat River beach. 9:30 am, 33 degrees. Sun! South winds. Blue sky (and a few clouds.) Hanukkah begins at sundown which is 3:07 today.
It’s a busy day– I volunteer on the radio this afternoon, followed by choir practice at 5:00 and the Kindergarten through fifth grade winter concert at 6:30. ( My daughter Stojanka is the director, and one granddaughter is in it. The others are too old. Imagine that?)
I have been thinking that I have been doing you a disservice. Noticing something good, something lovely, something to be happy about or grateful for– at least once a day– does not require living in the visual equivalent of a national park.
It’s almost cheating — it’s so easy here.
It takes courage and focus and what the wise folks call mindfulness to find a bright spot in a less obvious place. Mary Oliver endures because she did that so well — it doesn’t have to be a wild iris– it can be a dandelion in a crack in the asphalt. That sunny weed is worthy of more praise than a hot house flower for its sheer chutzpah.
If you can’t go outside, a candle flickering on the kitchen windowsill will do. The one a friend gave you that smells like a noble fir. The one that keeps you company when you wash the dishes on a rainy December night and reminds you to turn off the radio news, and put on some music, and sing-a-long. You know the words.
