Isn’t it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about
spiritual patience? Isn’t it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?
Every morning I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.
Every morning, so far, I’m alive…
~Mary Oliver from “Landscape” in New and Selected Poems
If even the mighty oaks standing along a path are as fragile as flowers,
then how fragile is my heart?
I wake each morning reminded of the treasure of a new day, cranking open the rusty doors of my heart.
Let the fresh air of grace and gratitude fill me today.