The Summer Day by Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
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?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
I'm sure I've used this poem before in multiple posts. Each time I read it another line is important to me. Today the line "Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away" needs attention. Although Mary Oliver is thinking of the grasshopper, I am thinking about the dragonfly. As I ventured out for my walk today they were snapping their wings and floating near the flowers and the pond. Later today as I was sitting reading in the sun, one made its way to my upper deck. Each of these times I thought, "I wish I had my camera to capture this wonder." Today I will settle for an image from Google.
This last week has been perfect summer weather. The sun shines without an oppressive heat. My windows remain open as the cool evening breeze enters. Of course the best part is the low dew point. I realize summer is coming to an end, ("It's running like its hair is on fire," a friend commented on a similar Facebook post.) but I am going to enjoy each and every last minute. After all...
"Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"
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