At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain
I dipped my cupped hand in water. I drink a long time,
It tastes like stone, leaves, fire
It falls cold into my body, waking my bones
I hear them, deep inside me whispering
Oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?
By Mary Oliver, the Bard of Province town
Image: Andrea Mohin/NY Times
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