Saturday, all day long

It seemed this day was one without imagination.  A dull day, with a lethargic spirit that somehow crept  inside and inserted itself into the bracelet of bright autumn days that have encircled our lives.  And so I went  looking for inspiration to quieten the melancholy and return to some semblance of creativity and mindfulness, and came across this lovely poem by Mary Oliver.

Mocking Birds

This morning

two mockingbirds

in the green field

were spinning and tossing

the white ribbons

of their songs

into the air.

I had nothing

better to do than listen.

I mean this

seriously.

In Greece

a long time ago,

an old couple

opened their door

to two strangers

who were,

it soon appeared,

not men at all,

but gods

It is my favourite story

how the old couple

had almost nothing to give

but their willingness

to be attentive -

but for this alone

the gods loved them

and blessed them -

when they rose

out of their mortal bodies,

like a million particles of water

from a fountain,

the light

swept into all the corners

of the cottage,

and the old couple,

shaken with understanding,

bowed down -

but still they asked for nothing

but the difficult life which they had already.

And the gods smiled, as they vanished,

clapping their great wings.

Wherever it was

I was supposed to be

this morning -

whatever it was I said

I would be doing -

I was standing

at the edge of the field

I was hurrying

through my own soul,

opening its dark doors -

I was leaning out;

I was listening