By Mary Oliver
A morning-glory morning with its usual glory, dawn particularly startling with citrons and mauves, petunias in the garden flashing their tender signals of gratitude. The sunflowers creak in their grass-colored dresses. Cosmos, the four o’clocks, the sweet alyssum nod to the roses who so very politely nod back.
And now it is time to go to work. At my desk I look out over the fluttering petals, little fires. Each one fresh and almost but not quite replicable.
Consider wearing such a satisfying body! Consider being, with your entire self, such a quiet prayer!