What Matters
“Instructions for living a life:
Mary Oliver
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”
Hobe Sound, dusk and the kind of silence sung by nature—chirps, laps, croaks, splashes, swish of air over heron’s wings, osprey’s cry before diving—which isn’t silence at all but a sort of soothing whir and thrum. Here for one night, anchored in water named Indian. Along the shore, sea grapes hunker together. Mangroves push knobby ankles into the river, and two sabal palms stand behind like watchful parents. I’m thinking of Mary whose work was loving the world, who was learning to befriend the mangroves of which she wrote and so leggy, and all of them rising as if attempting to escape this world, which don’t they know can’t be done? Adrift on cerulean, watching the sun lower its light on a forlorn day, I worry a tear in my sleeve, wanting an earth with her still on it writing poems, perhaps having tea near a window and watching ink spread across our shared sky. Then this—the beating heart of Presence, palpable and strong. Astonishment rolls over me as I raise my eyes and see that it is all held, enwombed, all— I; the osprey’s rise, scales glistening in its talons; cars’ hum from a close but unseen highway; slow gloaming; power lines; unlovely mangroves; my torn jacket; this boat, gently rocking, rocking forever. © 2019 Dede Mitchell
2 Comments
Dede
Elizabeth, thank you. You described that moment well–poignant and hopeful.
Elizabeth Richardson
Dede, this is so beautiful and poignant and hopeful all at the same time. Thank you.