I can't sleep…
What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours.
~ Mary Oliver, from “Straight Talk from Fox” in Redbird: Poems
Notes: Poem Source – Thank you beyondthefieldsweknow.org. Photo: Michael Blann / Getty Images
All I can tell you is what I know.
Look, and look again.
This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.
It’s more than bones.
It’s more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.
It’s more than the beating of the single heart.
It’s praising.
It’s giving until the giving feels like receiving.
You have a life – just imagine that
You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe
still another.
– Mary Oliver, from “To Begin With, the Sweet Grass” in Evidence: Poems
Notes:
Softest of mornings, hello.
And what will you do today, I wonder,
to my heart?
– Mary Oliver, from “Softest of Mornings” from Long Life: Essays and Other Writings
Notes: Poem (via litverve). Photo by nilay eren with (via Your Eyes Blaze Out)
When one is alone and lonely, the body
gladly lingers in the wind or the rain,
or splashes into the cold river, or
pushes through the ice-crusted snow.
Anything that touches.
God, or the gods, are invisible, quite
understandable. But holiness is visible,
entirely…
~ Mary Oliver, from “Leaves and Blossoms Along the Way” in Felicity.
Notes: Poem via Schonwieder. Photos via Aberrant Beauty
We pulled away from the gate at DFW 30 minutes late, late Friday afternoon. Not bad. Could be worse.
Exit row, reclining seat. God Bless Shara (My Assistant). We’ve been together 6 years now. This seat, this trip, the car pick-up, managing trip expenses – here and there and there, always just right.
Jet engines on this late model Boeing throb, I’m sitting over the wings. We taxi out, make a slow turn, and then…
The engines shut down, and the Pilot comes on the intercom. No. No. No. Yes.
“Folks, I’m sorry. But there is flow control at LaGuardia. We’ve been advised that the wait could be up to 90 minutes. We need to wait on the runway in the event we get cleared sooner.”
Not a free seat open on this plane. A chorus of groans, a shifting in seats. We settle in. My arrival time, now potentially 10pm on Friday night. Shoulders slump, heaviness sets in.
I grab my smartphone and tap in “P-h-o-e-n-i-x:” (in classical mythology) a unique bird that lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, after this time burning itself on a funeral pyre and rising from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle.
Let’s skip the funeral pyre part. But, the rest? Bring it on. To rise from the ashes. Live through another cycle. This trip that just won’t end. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday in Phoenix at a firm wide conference. Thursday and Friday with our team in Dallas.
What did you remember? Continue reading “Flying Northeast #AA2716. With Birds.”