Summer
I'm on vacation this week, out in God's summer--the trees in the wind and lightening bugs and cold spring water to swim in. And grandchildren! I leave you in the capable hands of poet Mary Oliver.
Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject Of Faith
by Mary Oliver
Every summer
I listen and look
under the sun's brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can't hear
anything, I can't see anything --
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green
stalks muscling up,
nor the leaves
deepening their damp pleats,
nor the tassels making,
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
And still,
every day,
the leafy fields
grow taller and thicker --
green gowns lofting up in the night,
showered with silk.
And so, every summer,
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing --
I am deaf too
to the tick of the leaves,
the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet --
all of it
happening
beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.
And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in the dirt
swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?
One morning
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body
is sure to be there.
Comments
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Charles Roller July 11, 2017 2:42pm
Ms. Oliver,
The older I become, the more I realize that I don't recognize much of the divine work that is in progress. God's handiwork is in full operation every day ... but I miss so much of it. Your poem reminds me of His mostly silent operations and protocols - which one day I'll see and understand intimately. Thanks for the reminder.