May
May, and among the miles of leafing
blossoms storm out of the darkness -
earth. windflowers and moccasin flowers. The bees
dive into them and I too, to gather
their spiritual honey. Mute and meek, yet theirs
is the deepest certainty that this existence too -
this sense of well-being, the flourishing
of the physical body - rides
near the hub of the miracle that everything
is a part of, is as good
as a poem or a prayer, can also make
luminous any dark place on earth.
Mary Oliver
 |
| A Lane Near Arles. May 1888, by Vincent van Gogh |
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