All afternoon I have been walking over the dunes, hurrying from one thick raft of the wrinkled, salt roses to another, leaning down close to their dark or pale petals, red as blood or white as snow. And now I am beginning to breathe slowly and evenly – the way a hunted animal breathes, finally, when it has galloped and galloped – when it is wrung dry, but, at last, is far away, so the panic begins to drain from the chest, from the wonderful legs, and the exhausted mind.

Oh sweetness pure and simple, may I join you?

I lie down next to them, on the sand. But to tell
about what happens next, truly I need help.

Will somebody or something please start to sing?

~ Mary Oliver, “The Roses” from Blue Iris: Poems and Essays

Notes:

• Photograph: Mennyfox55
• Related Posts: “It’s Been a Long Day“
• Related Posts: Mary Oliver

[…]
How wonderful it is
to follow a thought quietly

to its logical end.
I have done this a few times.

But mostly I just stand in the dark field,
in the middle of the world, breathing

in and out. Life so far doesn’t have any other name
but breath and light, wind and rain.
[…]

~ Mary Oliver, from “What Is There Beyond Knowing” from New and Selected Poems, Volume Two

Notes:

• Poem Source: enoughblue. Photograph: newthom
• Related Posts: “It’s Been a Long Day“
• Related Posts: Mary Oliver