alhamdulilla!...

hum

what is this dark hum among the roses?
the bees have gone simple, sipping,
that's all. what did you expect? sophistication?
they're small creatures and they are
filling their bodies with sweetness, how could they not
moan in happiness? the little
worker bee lives, i have read, about three weeks.
is that long? long enough, i suppose, to understand
that life is a blessing. i have found them-haven't you?—
stopped in the very cups of the flowers, their wings
a little tattered-so much flying about, to the hive,
then out into the world, then back, and perhaps dancing,
should the task be to be a scout-sweet, dancing bee.
i think there isn't anything in this world i don't
admire. if there is, i don't know what it is. i
haven't met it yet. nor expect to. the bee is small,
and since i wear glasses, so i can see the traffic and
read books, i have to
take them off and bend close to study and
understand what is happening. it's not hard, it's in fact
as instructive as anything i have ever studied. plus, too,
it's love almost too fierce to endure, the bee
nuzzling like that into the blouse
of the rose. and the fragrance, and the honey, and of course
the sun, the purely pure sun, shining, all the while, over
all of us.
~ mary oliver

and one more....

where does the temple begin - mary oliver

there are things you can’t reach. but
you can reach out to them, and all day long.
the wind, the bird flying away. the idea of god.
and it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.
the snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily,
out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing
from the unreachable top of the tree.
i look; morning to night i am never done with looking.
looking i mean not just standing around, but standing around
as though with your arms open.
and thinking: maybe something will come, some
shining coil of wind,
or a few leaves from any old tree–
they are all in this too.
and now i will tell you the truth.
everything in the world
comes.
at least, closer.
and, cordially.
like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake.
like goldfinches, little dolls of goldfluttering around the corner of the sky
of god, the blue air.


have been without water the last 3 days..
the HUM of the water pump was silenced..
pronounced dead by electrician and plumber..
resurrected in new form..
ah! bowing to the temple of flowing water..
the hum of fluency..
the wet..

birds eye view into inkling
of japanense tradgedy..
what once was ~ is no more
coming into being ~ go, slow, flow..