At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink a long time. It tastes like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?
Mary OliverPraying It doesnโt have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and donโt try to make them elaborate, this isnโt a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.
Mary OliverYou may not agree, you may not care, but if you are holding this book you should know that of all the sights I love in this world โ and there are plenty โ very near the top of the list is this one: dogs without leashes.
Mary OliverThough I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving
Mary Oliver