Mindful by Mary Oliver
Every day I see or hear something that more or less
kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle
in a haystack of light.
It was what I was born for- to look, to listen,
to lose myself inside this soft world-
to instruct myself over and over
in joy, and acclamation. Nor am I talking about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant-
but of the ordinary, the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help but grow wise with such teachings as these-
the untrimmable light of the world,
the ocean's shine, the prayers that are made
out of grass?