"Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat
of the sweet grass?
Will the owl bite off its own wings?
Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or
forget to sing?
Will the rivers run upstream?
Behold, I say -- behold
the reliability and the finery and the teachings
of this gritty earth gift."
So begins this poem from Mary Oliver. It is a poem that bristles with imperatives, pointblank inquiries and penetrating insight. It is a poem large of heart and long of stride, that whisks the reader right into the enchanted thicket that is,'the witchery of living.' Read it here.
of the sweet grass?
Will the owl bite off its own wings?
Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or
forget to sing?
Will the rivers run upstream?
Behold, I say -- behold
the reliability and the finery and the teachings
of this gritty earth gift."
So begins this poem from Mary Oliver. It is a poem that bristles with imperatives, pointblank inquiries and penetrating insight. It is a poem large of heart and long of stride, that whisks the reader right into the enchanted thicket that is,'the witchery of living.' Read it here.
