Last night the rain spoke to me slowly, saying, what joy to come falling out of the brisk cloud, to be happy again in a new way on the earth! That’s what it said as it dropped, smelling of iron, and vanished like a dream of the ocean into the branches and the grass below. Then it was over. The sky cleared. I was standing under a tree. The tree was a tree with happy leaves, and I was myself, and there were stars in the sky that were also themselves at the moment at which moment my right hand was holding my left hand which was holding the tree which was filled with stars and the soft rain –imagine! imagine! the long and wondrous journeys still to be ours. -Mary Oliver
Thursday, June 5
Sad girl
Her hands; slender, efficient. Her smile; polite, perfunctory. Her laugh; timed, cautious, taught. She is beautiful. Her eyes caress the uneven ground. She looks to the sky in her dreams, and waking, sighs.
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