Down in the Grass.


Although summer is slowly turning into autumn I can’t help but post this beautiful poem. I miss the buttercups…

The Summer Day  

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

By Mary Oliver.

Sunbathing with Nelly.

2 thoughts on “Down in the Grass.

    1. Thanks so much for your kind words! I love Mary Oliver’s work, as you can probably tell from her frequent appearance on my blog, and I agree, the poem seems to magically summon up summer. Things have definitely taken an autumnal turn around here, and the fields are a soft gold rather than a bright yellow, but it’s still a wonderful place to read – if a little damper! Thanks again for taking the time to comment. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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