Spring

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
her tongue

like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:

how to love this world.
I think of her
rising
like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of the trees.
Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her –
her white teeth,
her wordlessness,
her perfect love.

-Mary Oliver

One response. Share your comments.

One response to “Spring”

  1. Luisamaria says:

    What’s lovely about this black bear (a metaphor for ‘being’ perhaps?) is that she’s completely unselfconscious in her aliveness and beauty.)

    So, how do we love this world?….with total abandon! LM

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While they were saying it couldn't be done, it was done.
— Helen Keller