and it was Mary Oliver

and it was Mary Oliver

speaking directly to me!

her voice was full of blessings

and insight

about life and love and light

and darkness, too, like a bowl of the blackest chocolate fudge

eaten spoonful by spoonful by a curious man 

biding his time inside his prison cell.

oh, but do tell,

is that a dinner bell

i hear?

yes, Mary Oliver is making mention

that i need to pay attention 

to the brighter light in a certain direction, so

i have time to linger, wondering about my little finger

and how it attaches perfectly with my left & right hand

when i pet my dog or comb my hair.

i notice everything is simultaneously here and there!

the simple fact of focus upon my speeding moment:

is sufficient for the infant

and the young boy and the man

and the older fellow filling his bird feeder with oiled, black sunflower seeds

while the noisy chickadees bide their time, watching attentively.

and nearby Elizabeth sips her wine slowly with smiling eyes, pools of promise 

shimmering beyond the calm waters of a lake filled with ever-expanding infinities.

I hear a Pink Floyd song and imagine kissing her lips in rhythm to the bright side of the moon circling

around the Earth, remembering the constant push and pull of a tender tidal embrace;

remembering, too,  a yard of grateful gardens and bountiful fertile fields of joy;

the laughter of a child swinging from a strong braided rope 

tied above a deep creek's pool in a neighboring meadow; 

the splash and the bubbles and the delicious feel of cool water on skin,

laughter and riotous splashing everywhere.

it's a very important day, right here and right now.

this second passing.

a new second, also passing.   here it is.  and again.

again. 

it's only a short walk to the end of the boardwalk,

walking atop the boardwalk,

and under the boardwalk there are songs.

sing songs. 

i'm not ready to dismount my bike, whose tires are always spinning like a distant galaxy 

and they are comfortably filled with air.  my chain is cleaned and well-lubricated.

the road ahead is endless.  the invitation to play is signed, sealed, and delivered.

and so it goes.  and so i ride. 

a train whistles.

a baby cries for her seat; everyone makes room, moving and watching protectively.

we all have sufficient time.

we all feel.

we all love.

and my love shares her wine with me and i admire her spirit of sharing,

as i sip. 

she also feeds the noisy chickadees.

what i thought was happening then and now was a constant unfolding,

as we folded our lives together like the petals of a beautiful flower.