Praying with Fringes 06/16/2017 – one of the doors into the temple

Today Mary Oliver Today I'm flying low and I'm not saying a word. I'm letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep. The world goes on as it must, the bees in the garden rumbling a little, the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten. And so forth. But I'm taking the day off. Quiet as a … Continue reading Praying with Fringes 06/16/2017 – one of the doors into the temple

Praying with Fringes 10/08/2015 – this and every crisping day

Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness Mary Oliver Every year we have been witness to it: how the world descends into a rich mash, in order that it may resume. And therefore who would cry out to the petals on the ground to stay, knowing as we must, how the vivacity of what … Continue reading Praying with Fringes 10/08/2015 – this and every crisping day

Praying with Fringes 7/11/2014 – cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth

August Mary Oliver When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth; all day my body accepts what it is. In the dark creeks that run by … Continue reading Praying with Fringes 7/11/2014 – cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth