After Reading Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day”
Up.
Early.
I am retired into
a perfect summer morning:
to walk in the garden
to take notes on the world
to write a poem
and witness the day.
And to learn and relearn
and consolidate the truths
that arise like glubbing koi,
curious to seek the feeding seeker.
And,
most especially,
to have no need
for larger meaning
at all.
Here is my first draft of the poem if anybody cares. I care about process and I assume some of you do, too. I learn from describing and reflecting on process.
Here is a replay of the poem as I wrote it using etherpad with its cool timeslider feature:
