swollen in the woods

August

When the blackberries hang

swollen in the woods, in the brambles

nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high

branches, reaching

my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming

the black honey of summer

into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark

creeks that run by there is

this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is

this happy tongue.

-Mary Oliver

These blackberries, sun-warmed, sweet-and-sour on the tongue, grow behind my daughter's school. They grow in a glorious tangle of tomatoes, wildflowers and fruit.



We (my family and I) are surrounded by such an overflow of beauty in our day-to-day life, that more often than I'd like to admit, my eyes begin to glaze over and my gratitude slinks off into hiding.

Lately, I've been trying to freeze-frame these scenes that surround me, refocus my awareness, and tap back into a spirit of perpetual thanksgiving.