I've been feeling bad about not posting here for so long. By way of explanation for that absence: we moved to Wisconsin and now I'm Land Scouting here. More on that later. For now in the spirit of new beginnings, the value of amateur naturalism, seeing familiar land anew, and a nod to the Catholic institution where I now teach, here is a poem by Mary Oliver.
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.