A different earth

They were playing catch in a small stretch near the road. Not much space to throw the ball. A big brother and his much younger sister.  Outside the window I saw the yard that tries to defeat my body's strength and mocks my will to tend. Grass. Space.  I walked outside and offered the yard.  Now, as I sit, laughter fills the air. The snap sound of ball in glove.  The older sister has joined.  Play. Laughter. Joy. The earth will be different now, when I go to mow. My feet will feel laughter. As I push the mower up the hill my knees will soar like a well thrown ball of freedom. 

The Place I Want to Get Back To

is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness

and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me

they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let's see who she is
and why she is sitting

on the ground, like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;

and so they come
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way

I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward

and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years

I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can't be repeated.

If you want to talk about this
come to visit.  I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named
Gratitude.

~ Mary Oliver ~