Walt, William, Edna, Christina, Emily, Pablo, Gabriela, Wislawa, William Butler, Anne, Rainer, Jessica, May, Thomas Stearns, Alfred, Gerard Manley, Denise…
There is another among your numbers today… Though, I don’t imagine she’s made her way front and centre. More likely, Mary’s on a wander through the heavens, bounding with her dogs and penciling observations of all beheld with reverence and awe. Not hard to imagine that the spirit who could draw her back to your fold would be Molly. Artist calling to artist, love to love, once more.
Mary Oliver…poet of unencumbered observation and description… For 30,415 sunrises you saw into the life of things (Thank you, Wordsworth, for that expression.) and for over twenty volumes of poetry, you shared what became part of you with the rest of us who read your words, memorized them, cupped them with reverence as they lifted from the sanctuary of the page. And now we can say, Yes, yes! We are the lucky ones. (from “I Know Someone” in Felicity). We feasted with you on nature’s offerings of wonder and grace and the deeper truths and questions.
I can’t help but think that tomorrow, there’s going to be a ray of morning light that will go looking for you and sigh for a moment when it realizes that you are now with the stars.
Mary Oliver, Pulitzer Prize winning poet, 10 October, 1935 – 17 January, 2019