Desra

“It's spring and Mockingbird is teaching himself new ways to celebrate.
If you can imagine that - that gusty talker.
And the sky is painting itself a brand-new robust blue
plenty of which is spilling into the pond.
I don't weigh very much, but right now
I weigh nothing.
And my mind is, I guess you would say, compounded.
One voice is saying, Ah, it's Mockingbird.
Another voice is saying, The pond never looked this blue before.
Another voice says, There couldn't be a more splendid world, and here I am existing in it.
I think, just for the joy of it, I'll fly.
I believe I could.
And yet another voice says, Can we come down from the clouds now?
And some other voice answers, Okay.
But only for awhile.”
― Mary Oliver, Blue Horses