Status Updates From Upstream: Selected Essays

how very peaceful, how very beautiful and how very much I need to write

By the end, I realized this book was a love letter to her own internal movement, rhythm, and spirituality(as she called it, not, the other). It is a vibrant exploration of her gusto, her foxy takes on life, and her Provincetown-her living definition of heaven, shaped entirely by the simple, profound act of being alive.

Let this sink in:
"He was, of course, a piece of the sky. His eyes said so. This is not fact; this is the other part of knowing something, when there is no proof, but neither is there any way toward disbelief. Imagine lifting the lid from a jar and finding it filled not with darkness but with light. Bird was like that. Startling, elegant, alive."

No! I am not okay. She didn't have children of her own, but this bird story and how fond "m" and her grew of it, is absolutely breaking my heart.

To be as curious as she is, is a true gift. I am constantly amazed by her curiosity and inquisitiveness. And the best part is, while naviagting the questions, how gently does she know, how to hold one's hands.

forgot to mention, oliver did a number on the erotica of a spider mating and laying eggs too. just saying.

forgive me, father, for i have taken serious delight in the hunting of a spider; a spider that preyed upon a cricket. mary oliver made it feel like a cinematic experience. i never imagined, i would feel such intense suspense reading about a spider ensnaring its prey. i’m right back to being that kid passionately glued to the discovery channel.