A Guest Author

I'm not usually a fan of poems named after months (or seasons for that matter), but when it comes to Mary Oliver I'll take anything she gives me. Before May passes into June I wanted to share a poetical morsel that perfectly captures the heady rush of our flowering, fruiting, leafing farm. Would that I could say it so well!

May
May, and among the miles of leafing,
blossoms storm out of the darkness –
windflowers and moccasin flowers. The bees
dive into them and I too, to gather
their spiritual honey. Mute and meek, yet theirs
is the deepest certainty that this existence too –
this sense of well-being, the flourishing
of the physical body — rides
near the hub of the miracle that everything
is a part of, is as good
as a poem or a prayer, can also make
luminous any dark place on earth.

p.s. For those of you who had complained that only registered blog-people could leave comments, this is no longer the case. Comment away and make my day!