Today I'm flying low and I'mnot saying a word.I'm letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
The world goes on as it must,the bees in the gardening rumbling a little,the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.And so forth.
But I'm taking the day off.Quiet as a feather.I hardly move though really I'm travelinga terrific distance.
Stillness. One of the doorsinto the temple.
From Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings: Poems
(New York: Penguin, 2012)
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