Every day
I see or I hear
something
that more or less
kills me with delight,
that leaves me like a needle
in the haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for–
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world–
to instruct myself over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant–
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself, how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings as these–
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made out of grass?

Mary Oliver Mindful