Thursday, May 18, 2017

I Worried

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.”

~ Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

I wake shortly after four, my body aching from crawling around in the garden yesterday. I think about the walls-o-water I put up around the tomatoes as I check the weather forecast. We’re in for a warming trend so I’ll take them down on the weekend. C’est la vie.

I’m going to plant beans today and that’s the extent of the gardening for this aching body. Seems like a good day to take my camera out to play instead.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. Oh yes – those first days in the garden in the spring can oh so painful – finding those muscles that haven’t been used for months. But like a deep message – it ‘hurts so good’

    1. “Hurts so good”: exactly! Funny, because those were the exact words I was thinking about when I woke up with gardener’s muscles!

  2. I love the quote….what good is worry? Probably more than half of what we worry about ever comes to pass.

    1. Exactly.

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