Poem: am i not among the early risers? by Mary Oliver

My dearest friend Libby sent me these words from the poet Mary Oliver in a lovely letter made of onion skins and grass, stitched together with threads of black cotton.

Am I not among the early risers
and the long-distance walkers?

Have I not stood, amazed, as I consider
the perfection of the morning star
above the peaks of the houses, and the crowns of the trees
blue in the first light?
Do I not see how the trees tremble, as though
sheets of water flowed over them
though it is only wind, that common thing,
free to everyone, and everything?

Have I not thought, for years, what it would be
worthy to do, and then gone off, barefoot and with a silver pail,
to gather blueberries,
thus coming, as I think, upon a right answer?

What will ambition do for me that the fox, appearing suddenly
at the top of the field,
her eyes sharp and confident as she stared into mine,
has not already done?

What countries, what visitations,
what pomp
would satisfy me as thoroughly as Blackwater Woods
on a sun-filled morning, or, equally, in the rain?

Here is an amazement–––once I was twenty years old and in
every motion of my body there was a delicious ease,
and in every motion of the green earth there was
a hint of paradise,
and now I am sixty years old, and it is the same.

Above the modest house and the palace–––the same darkness.
Above the evil man and the just, the same stars.
Above the child who will recover and the child who will
not recover, the same energies roll forward,
from one tragedy to the next and from one foolishness to the next.

I bow down.

Have I not loved as though the beloved could vanish at any moment,
or become preoccupied, or whisper a name other than mine
in the stretched curvatures of lust, or over the dinner table?
Have I ever taken good fortune for granted?

Have I not, every spring, befriended the swarm that pours forth?
Have I not summoned the honey-man to come, to hurry,
to bring with him the white and comfortable hive?

And while I waited, have I not leaned close, to see everything?
Have I not been stung as I watched their milling and gleaming,
and stung hard?

Have I not been ready always at the iron door,
not knowing to what country it opens–––to death or to more life?

Have I ever said that the day was too hot or too cold
or the night too long and as black as oil anyway,
or the morning, washed blue and emptied entirely
of the second-rate, less than happiness

as I stepped down from the porch and set out along
the green paths of the world?

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About cmbrady8

Caitlin Brady is excited for the opportunity to work as the farmer in residence at Heritage Creek Farm this coming season. Caitlin spent her childhood and teenage years on a diversified family farm in Northwestern Missouri. She has worked on a variety of farms, ranging from the bountiful fields of tobacco, grapes, corn and soy in Missouri, to the coffee cliffs of Guatemala, organic heirloom vegetables in Silver Spring, PA, and organic cranberry bogs of Cape Cod, MA. In 2010 she rode the train to Lancaster, PA and witnessed for the first time the rich agricultural heritage this county has to offer. It was love at first sight and in 2011 she settled in among the bountiful farm fields of Lancaster County where she started Blue Rock Farm, an organic vegetable farm and CSA. Blue Rock Farm is committed to being a good neighbor in our community and a careful steward of the land. We grow healthy, tasty vegetables without synthetic fertilizers or pesticides. Our gardens and greenhouse are Pennsylvania Certified Organic.

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