Despite the record in the sand, the seabirds who left their tracks were calm, graceful, at ease in the landscape.
Their work was to leave tracks on the quiet beach; as my work, described so beautifully by Mary Oliver in “Messenger,”
is not to fret, not to let my mind tug me away into the realm of busy worry,
but to stand still, and learn to be astonished.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Tracks
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I love the philosophy of not fretting, not rushing, and not busying.
ReplyDeleteAnd I love the blue hue of that sand.
I love the morning sight of the birds flying onto my balcony to eat the bread crumbs I leave for them the night before.
I'm glad you have birds too, Jay—they are a present to the heart.
ReplyDelete