letter to ________ {mary oliver}

You have broken my heart.

Just as well. Now

I am learning to rise

above all that, learning

the thin life, waking up

simply to praise

everything in this world that is

strong and beautiful

always---the trees, the rocks,

the fields, the news

from heaven, the laughter

that comes back

all the same. Just as well. Time

to read books, rake the lawn

in peace, sweep the floor, scour

the faces of pans,

anything. And I have been so

diligent it is almost

over, I am growing myself

as strong as rock, as a tree

which, if I put my arms around it, it does not

lean away. It is a

wonderful life. Comfortable.

I read the papers. Maybe

I will go on a cruise, maybe I will

cross the entire ocean, more than once.

Whatever you think, I have scarcely

thought of you. Whatever you imagine.

it never really happened. Only a few

evenings of nonsense. Whatever you believe--

dear one, dear one--

do not believe this letter.

cold

I'm feeling a touch pensive tonight. Mostly out of tiredness I dare say, and a want for sunlight. It's less than a month into winter and it already feels that the grey clouds have been present for an eternity. I have never had a particularly great affection for rain, I get cold easily and raindrops feel like ice on my skin.

But still, it's one of those weary, sad evenings when you just want to curl up, bury your face in your hands, and lose yourself amid your thoughts.