Just as the calendar began to say Summer
by Mary Oliver
I went out of the schoolhouse fast
and through the garden to the woods,
and spent all summer forgetting what I'd been taught -
two times two, and diligence and so forth,
how to be modest, and useful and how to succeed and so forth,
machines and oil and plastic and money and so forth.
By fall I had healed somewhat, but was summoned back
to the chalky rooms and the desks to sit and remember
the way the river kept rolling it's pebbles,
the way the wild wren sang though they hadn't a penny in the bank,
the way the flowers were dressed in nothing but light.
(still injured, trying to maintain a little exercise but painful, walk dog 0.8 miles, pm slow jog 1.2 miles)
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