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.
Outside my window today, the world is transformed thanks to the twenty centimetres of snow that arrived last night. It’s magical and wondrous. I am reminded to be grateful for the privilege of staying inside today while others figure out how to drive in it. While others seek a way to live in it.
My cat is curled up under her blanket, and I am wrapped in mine. I don’t think I’ll see my chickadees today, and I’m not sure where they hide out when we have snow like this. Then, I wonder how the geese are making out, the thousands that were still here this weekend feeding in the wheat fields. The temperature remains mild, and I’m sure they’re okay.
That, my friend, is the circuitous pathway my brain took towards this poem today. I appreciate Mary Oliver’s writing. I am a person who struggles sometimes with poetic language but seldom with hers. And like the geese, no matter what I glean the first time, there always seems to be something more the next.
Here then, is Mary Oliver reading her poem Wild Geese.