Patterns in Ice

A frosted morning,  clear sky,  noisy rooks. I took the long way home from the post office across the fields. The river had burst it's banks earlier in the week and the fields had turned to lakes. From my window I had imagined I was in Avalon. Now the water had receded leaving shallow still pools.  The sun shone a sparkling path of light across to the other side. 

The surface of the pools were frozen into beautiful patterns. Etched windows to a transient watery world beneath.

 A labyrinth of tiny frozen pathways. Fused shards of water crystal, welded, woven between grass.

Lace, stitched of water glass.

So beautiful.

I imagined what might have happened before. 

'The temperature dropped to below freezing so suddenly, just after the sun set. In the darkness, hidden in shadows, with only Orion for her lamp. The Snow Queen reached into her frozen pocket and retrieved a silver needle. When I was warm and deep in sleep and dreaming, she stitched.  By the distant bark of fox she thread the most beautiful  blanket to cover the Earth. And when the sun rose and the Robin began his song, it sparkled just as precious as any of Earths jewels. A gift to a new day'

Every day

I see or hear

something

that more or less

kills me

with delight, 

that leaves me

like a needle

in the haystack

of light.

It was what I was born for -

to look, to listen, 

to lose myself

inside this soft world -

to instruct myself

over and over

in joy, 

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking

about the exceptional, 

the fearful, the dreadful, 

the very extravagant - 

but of the ordinary, 

the common, the very drab, 

the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar, 

I say to myself, 

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these -

the untrimmable light

of the world, 

the ocean's shine, 

the prayers that are made

out of grass.

Mindful ~ Mary Oliver