Our weather in southern Maryland has finally turned gorgeous, reminding me of this sensuous poem by Mary Oliver. Like Oliver’s blossoms, we have come storming out of what has been an unusually chilly spring, and like Oliver’s bees, we are experiencing a deep sense of well-being. All is well.
May
By Mary Oliver
May, and among the miles of leafing,
blossoms storm out of the darkness—
windflowers and moccasin flowers. The bees
dive into them and I too, to gather
their spiritual honey. Mute and meek, yet theirs
is the deepest certainty that this existence too—
this sense of well-being, the flourishing
of the physical body—rides
near the hub of the miracle that everything
is a part of, is as good
as a poem or a prayer, can also make
luminous any dark place on earth.
One Comment