At Blackwater Pond"Look, the treesare turningtheir own bodiesinto pillarsof light, are giving off the richfragrance of cinnamonand fulfillment, the long tapersof cattailsare bursting and floating away overthe blue shouldersof the ponds, and every pond, no matter what itsname is, isnameless now. Every yeareverything. I have ever learnedin my lifetimeleads back to this: the firesand the black river of losswhose other sideis salvation, whose meaningnone of us will ever know. To live in this worldyou must be ableto do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold itagainst your bones knowingyour own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.
Mary OliverAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: September 10, 1935
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Children are grateful when Santa Claus puts in their stockings gifts of toys or sweets. Could I not be grateful to Santa Claus when he put in my stockings the gift of two miraculous legs? We thank people for birthday presents of cigars and slippers. Can I thank no onefor the birthday present of birth?
Gilbert K. Chesterton