Wild Geese

It is too hot to think much less do anything else other than care for the outdoor animals and make them as comfortable as possible. I find myself thinking of colder weather... of being chilly enough that wearing sweaters and snuggling into blankets sounds appealing. And who else is around in winter? The wild geese, of course. So for today's post, a wintery poem by Mary Oliver from her collection, Owls and Other Fantasies.

Wild Geese


You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
     love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

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