In Blackwater Woods Mary Oliver . © back bay books, 1983. Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment, the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is nameless now.
In Blackwater Woods / Let It Go by Mary Oliver Art Print Etsy from www.etsy.com And, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go. © back bay books, 1983. Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment, the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is nameless now.
Source: www.pinterest.com “in blackwater woods” by mary oliver, from american primitive. And, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.
Source: pinterest.com “in blackwater woods” by mary oliver, from american primitive. Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment, the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is nameless now.
Source: www.pinterest.com By mary oliver original language english. “in blackwater woods” by mary oliver, from american primitive.
Source: pinterest.com Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment, the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is nameless now. “in blackwater woods” by mary oliver, from american primitive.
To Love What Is Mortal; And, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go. Your own life depends on it; “in blackwater woods” by mary oliver, from american primitive.
© Back Bay Books, 1983. By mary oliver original language english. Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment, the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is nameless now.
