Mary Oliver Blackwater Woods. “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.
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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. Your own life depends on it; “in blackwater woods” by mary oliver, from american primitive.
And, When The Time Comes To Let It Go, To Let It Go.
