I had the pleasure of a day at a beach in Stratford the other day with two friends.
We talked light talk, ate a picnic lunch, and, since the clouds were towering in their
summer glory, we spoke of dreams.
And all the while, without noticing, we kept moving our chairs back, the blanket back,
the food covered, as the tide was coming in.
When the time came to pack up and go, we noticed that the line of pebbles and sea
weed had stayed with us! How had that happened? The same line of about a foot
of pebbles and sea weed were now under my feet that had been before us
at water’s edge.
How could this have happened right beneath my feet, and I not have been aware of
the gentle push of those pebbles, so gradual had been the transition? Amazing.
It brought to mind just now a poem I had put in a folder in ’04 to look at again:
“LITTLE SUMMER POEM TOUCHING
THE SUBJECT OF FAITH
I listen and look
under the sun’s brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can’t hear
anything. I can’t see anything–
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,
nor the leaves
deepening their damp pleats,
nor the the tassels making,
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
the leafy fields
grow taller and thicker —
green gowns lofting up in the night,
showered with silk.
And so, every summer,
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing___
I am dead too
to the tick of the leaves,
the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet ___
all of it
beyond amy seeable proof, or bearable hum.
And, therefor, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in the dirt
swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn’s beautiful body
is sure to be there.”
………………… MARY OLIVER
with love …