A couple hours on the shores of Lake Erie, brought us a live version of one of Mary Oliver's poems when a large gaggle of geese floated by right on the shoreline where we were sitting. Here's one group.
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Mary Oliver
A beautiful holiday weekend in "our neck of the woods." Guests are in abundance, too. In our back parking lot five cars in one row had these license plates: Massachusetts, Ohio, North Carolina, Minnesota and Pennsylvania.
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