Note: This reflection is shared by Liz Sorensen Wessel
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.
~Mary Oliver
Photo and watercolor by ~liz
Journal of Sacred Work 
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