A Right Way to Live

When I Am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness,
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, "Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."

(Mary Oliver)

There is a moment, late in a summer's day, not long before the sun sets, when the shadows have grown so long they are like a blanket pulled across the world, when the light through the trees is an overwhelming gold, so vibrant it can be felt, when the birdsong is softening and lulls the crickets and night creatures awake, urging them to join the chorus, when the tips of the tallest, flowering blades of grass catch the precious light among their budding tips and carry it proudly, like lanterns held aloft, that is my favorite time to take Duncan for a walk down The Run to The Glen.

The voice of the trees is a soothing whisper and the cool air rising up from the grass is as rejuvenating as lemonade. Neither of us is in a hurry, which is the best way to walk, and step softly around the brilliantly illuminated wings of the insects which rise up and dance around our ankles before settling down among the thick blades of grass as we pass. The traffic dies down long enough for dinner and the spin of the world seems to relax and stop so that the night is frozen, caught in amber, captured forever in my memory as another perfect evening, the kind I will walk through in dreams many times long days from now.

Surely there is a right way to live, and when I am with Duncan on nights such as this, I'm certain I have found it.