Whether or Not

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted --

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.

...from Mary Oliver's "Morning Poem"

The haze of the morning sky is slightly orange. This is not beauty rather it is a warning not to breathe too deeply today, yet still I feel the need to do so.

I slept fitfully last night. The neighbors to the north danced in the dark in their dirt backyard, not yet groomed to be the patio they've been working on. Their music, an interesting Mexican folk song, played over and over while they practiced the gentle rhythms and pirouettes. Their Spanish conversations peppered with laughter threaded themselves into my dreams until I woke to the sounds of the neighbor to the south pulling ladders out from his shed.

It was 5:30 in the morning. I wanted to sleep more, but there was no point. Today is predicted to reach 90. It's already 75 degrees in the house though I've opened all the windows, turned on the fan, and blocked the sun from filtering into the kitchen. This day calls for early rising and afternoon siestas.

I finished "Under the Banner of Heaven" yesterday and was left with nothing to read, so I pulled Mary Oliver off the shelf and reread her poems. I want to say I understand them. Her language is both simple and intricate, but I can read a poem seven times over and still be struck by its detailed ambiguity.

Don't bother me.
I've just
been born.

That's exactly how I feel today. I like the silence of this orange morning. There is, of course, no silence at all -- I can hear the neighbor taking a shower, the planes flying south overhead, the music on the radio, the dog snoring quietly under the desk, the birds chasing after wilted cherries, and a distant neighbor's dog announcing the morning news. The garbage trucks are one block over and far off, there are the trains rumbling into town. But the morning feels slow and I want to drag my heels against the inevitable pull to move forward.

It's time to water the tomatoes. That's next on the list of today's duties. Then take the dog to the lake for a refreshing swim. In the heat of the day I'll empty the dishwasher, sort laundry in the cool of the basement, and then go for a swim at the pool myself. Then we shall lie around, the dog and I, and wish the day would pick up its feet and move into something less weighty and slow.