Poet Mary Oliver died in January at eighty-three. She had a gift for expressing in words what she experienced of nature. Her numinous encounters were of the everyday/anywhere variety - in the woods, at the marsh, with her dog.
Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed.
(from It Was Early)
(from It Was Early)
Her theology inspired a 2011 prayer that I re-post to honor her memory.
