I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pocketsfull of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the starsbut my thoughts, and they floated light as mothsamong the branches of the perfect trees. All night I heard the small kingdomsbreathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom. By morning. I had vanished at least a dozen timesinto something better.
Mary OliverAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: September 10, 1935
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Peter was not with them for the moment, and they felt rather lonely up there by themselves. He could go so much faster than they that he would suddenly shoot out of sight, to have some adventure in which they had no share. He would come down laughing over something fearfully funny he had been saying to a star, but he had already forgotten what it was, or he would come up with mermaid scales still sticking to him, and yet not be able to to say for certain what had been happening. It was really...
J. M. Barrie