Not quite, but very close to full bloom:
Four or five years ago i threw an old door mat at the foot of the stairs of my front porch because i was doing some work there. About a week later, i noticed that it had reinvented itself and made a new life as the home of some beautiful moss. It has been doing it's job well over the years and i just can't make myself remove it. In fact, i'm thinking of throwing down another one next to it.
Which reminds me of another of Mary Oliver's beautiful poems:
Landscape
Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about
spiritual patience? Isn't it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?
Every morning I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.
Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky--as though
all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be, and imagined their strong, thick wings.
New And Collected Poems: Volume One
Mary Oliver
God, don't let me die
Unless my body goes too.
Without dreams, what then?
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