“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?”
– Mary Oliver, The Summer Day
At first when I was sheltering in place it was all about connection.
But lately I’ve turned inwards towards my introverted/reclusive side.
Mostly unplugged from electronics and the world.
A time when picking blackberries in the warm sun is everything I ever wanted to do.
A time of doing without doing and everything still gets done.
A time of unexpected gifts.
I learn to love this quiet place.
The place where sounds matter.
Not words.
The sound of bees on the lavender.
The sound of the loons calling across the water.
The sound of eagles in my yard singing their song to greet the dawn.
The sound of wind rustling through maple leaves.
The sound of music from my husband’s guitar.
The sound of rain beating on the tent.
The sound of tears and laughter.
The sound of my footsteps on the forest floor.
The sound of Mary Oliver reciting her poetry which transcends the limitations of words.
The sound of the ebb and flow of the waves of possibility lapping at the shore.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
A new rhythm.
A slower pace.
A field of grace.
