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25 Oct

Stories to Tell

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I read with delight a Mary Oliver poem on sunflowers in her new book Felicity. I stood before the sunflowers, as her poet’s voice urged, and started to listen. As I stood so silent before the sunflowers, a cacophony of unseen Sandhill Cranes somewhere on the mesa grabbed my body and senses. I wanted to run and find them. I could see in my mind their beauty. I could see in my mind their wings in flight. But, I was standing before the sunflowers. I had whispered, “I see you.” No need to rush off to something my mind said would be more exciting and beautiful. Where I was, was where I was meant to be. And so, asking forgiveness, I whispered again, “I see you” and listened for my own whisper. Mary Oliver had heard hers, would there be one for me?

“Yes, my yellow petals that follow the sun are gone. Even the green petals that cradled the sun’s reflection are gone. Yes, the seeds have traveled to places I shall never know. The season has changed and the sap so warm and vital within me has walked quietly back into my roots and the earth.
 
Even in my stillness and decline I continue to nurture and offer rest. I still have stories to tell. Perhaps it fits the approaching winter that you should have to come closer to hear. Would that all should dare to trust the sap within the darkness of the earth. To hear the stories whispered in the dark while still casting an eye upon what you see as dead, and celebrate the beauty.”
 

I bowed to the sunflower. I gave thanks for the sound of Sandhill Cranes. And, as I walked away, I turned back to the sunflower, pondered a moment and smiled. Maybe the sound itself was a gift of welcome offered by the sunflower.

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