Wednesday, February 6, 2008


Some might say gardens do not observe the seasons of the church - only the seasons of the sun.

I disagree.

If you look around my garden this morning, with fresh burns from the latest dip below freezing, there is a very penitential feel to it. A sense of gathering energies, of considering, of regrets for past excesses and hope for joys to come.

In light of that, I share one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems, one she is perhaps best known for, and I hope my confidence in God's forgiveness will be borne out by blooms yet to come.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

~ Mary Oliver ~

( from Dream Work)

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About Me

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Rollingwood, Central Texas
Family historian by default. Oldest surviving matriarch on my branch of the Family Tree. Story teller, photo taker, gardener, cook, blabbermouth.