Arriving Home from Work

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?


The Sun, by Mary Oliver


Sometimes when coming or going its makes sense to just stop in the driveway for a moment and appreciate things. Stepping out of the car after work to take this photo it was very cold, and the trees were making creaking and popping noises as if one might suddenly burst. I thought of the little saw whet owl which we heard for this first time this year back on Saturday evening, it's incessant hoot hoot hoot coming from somewhere near this stand of trees. How could a tree cavity possibly be warm enough for any of these birds to survive? 

I find it difficult to believe I've never posted this poem before, but I try to keep track of such things and as far as I can tell I haven't. Seems about time.