I want to share with you a winter solstice poem.
It’s so nice to be able to share what we enjoy and find helpful. The solstice is the darkest time of year, but it also is a time that reminds us of the lights around and within us.
Mary Oliver’s poem, “Snowy Night,” is a poem that reminds us to pay attention and to be with what is present, whether we understand it or not:
It reminds us, too, of the ways we love this world and how to stay in wonder.
I wish you wonderful holidays, whatever you celebrate, and a strong start to 2020—a new year and decade. May we show up for what we believe in and support one another.
with love and much appreciation,
Nadia
Snowy Night by Mary Oliver
Last night, an owl
in the blue dark
tossed an indeterminate number
in the blue dark
tossed an indeterminate number
of carefully shaped sounds into
the world, in which,
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
the world, in which,
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
I couldn’t tell
which one it was –
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air –
which one it was –
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air –
it was that distant. But, anyway,
aren’t there moments
that are better than knowing something,
and sweeter? Snow was falling,
aren’t there moments
that are better than knowing something,
and sweeter? Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness. I suppose
if this were someone else’s story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable – would have hurried
if this were someone else’s story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable – would have hurried
over the fields
to name it – the owl, I mean.
But it’s mine, this poem of the night,
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
to name it – the owl, I mean.
But it’s mine, this poem of the night,
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
my hands to the soft glitter
falling through the air. I love this world,
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl,
falling through the air. I love this world,
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl,
whatever its name –
and I wish great welcome to the snow,
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning.
and I wish great welcome to the snow,
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning.
