What is the good life now? Why,
look here, consider
the moon's white crescent
rounding, slowly, over
the half month to still another
perfect circle --
the shining eye
that lightens the hills
that lays down the shadows
of the branches of the trees
that summons the flowers
to open their sleepy faces and look up
into the heavens.
I used to hurry everywhere
and leaped the running creeks.
There wasn't
time enough for all the wonderful things
I could think of to do
in a single day. Patience
comes to the bones
before it takes root in the heart
as another good idea.
I say this
as I stand in the woods
and study the patterns
of the moon shadows,
or stroll down to the waters
that now, late summer, have also
caught the fever, and hardly move
from one eternity to another.
-- Mary Oliver
