SYBF Bonus: Gratitude
Thank you all for the commitment you made to yourself over the last five weeks as you examined and embraced your humanity while you honed your mind. Please take a moment to think about yourself, your gifts and growth areas, and the world around you that shapes you as much as you shape it while you read this beautiful poem by the incomparable Mary Oliver.
Gratitude Poem by Mary Oliver
What did you notice?
The dew-snail;
the low-flying sparrow;
the bat, on the wind, in the dark;
big-chested geese, in the V of sleekest performance;
the soft toad, patient in the hot sand;
the sweet-hungry ants;
the uproar of mice in the empty house;
the tin music of the cricket’s body;
the blouse of the goldenrod.
What did you hear?
The thrush greeting the morning;
the little bluebirds in their hot box;
the salty talk of the wren,
then the deep cup of the hour of silence.
When did you admire?
The oaks, letting down their dark and hairy fruit;
the carrot, rising in its elongated waist;
the onion, sheet after sheet, curved inward to the pale green wand;
at the end of summer the brassy dust, the almost liquid beauty of the flowers;
then the ferns, scrawned black by the frost.
What astonished you?
The swallows making their dip and turn over the water.
What would you like to see again?
My dog: her energy and exuberance, her willingness,
her language beyond all nimbleness of tongue,
her recklessness, her loyalty, her sweetness,
her strong legs, her curled black lip, her snap.
What was most tender?
Queen Anne’s lace, with its parsnip root;
the everlasting in its bonnets of wool;
the kinks and turns of the tupelo’s body;
the tall, blank banks of sand;
the clam, clamped down.
What was most wonderful?
The sea, and its wide shoulders;
the sea and its triangles;
the sea lying back on its long athlete’s spine.
What did you think was happening?
The green beast of the hummingbird;
the eye of the pond;
the wet face of the lily;
the bright, puckered knee of the broken oak;
the red tulip of the fox’s mouth;
the up-swing, the down-pour, the frayed sleeve of the first snow—
so the gods shake us from our sleep.
(italics are added for affect, and not a part of the originally published poem)
I invite you, encourage you, to take Oliver’s questions to your journal. What did you notice, hear, and admire? What would you like to see again, what was tender, and what was most wonderful? What did you think was happening? When were you astonished throughout this 5-week journey? And let’s add one more: What allowed you to love and appreciate yourself more?
I made something to thank you for our time together—a small thank you for learning to take time for you and for bringing me unexpected gifts along this journey. From around the globe, from my Colorado neighbors to my hometown to Sweden and beyond, I was gifted with unexpected love and support from people who trusted me to help them learn and grow. I am forever grateful to you all. You have been instrumental in my growth on this journey, too.
With my deepest gratitude for all you are,