"If you notice anything, it leads you to notice more and more."
“If you notice anything, it leads you to notice more and more” is a touchstone line for us from the poem “The Moths” by American poet Mary Oliver. Stemming from her lifelong passion for solitary walks in the wild, Mary Oliver’s work is inspired by nature, rather than the human world. As we take time to consider the land from a different point of view, one of reciprocity rather than domination, her words remind us to slow down, to notice the small things - that blade of grass, the song of a little bird, the pretty yellow flower lifting her head to the sun, perhaps saying “chin up folks.” In our hurried busy lives, noticing these small things can be a start to something important - noticing and appreciating more.
So grab your hot drink, gather around our kitchen table and take a moment to read these beautiful lines. We invite you to become part of our conversation by leaving a comment…whatever you feel like leaving - thoughts, feelings, inspiration, stories of a walk in nature, the small thing you noticed today - the sky is the limit. Have fun with it.
Have a fantastic week!
Sue and Vera
The Moths by Mary Oliver
There’s a kind of white moth, I don’t know
what kind, that glimmers
by mid-May
in the forest, just
as the pink moccasin flowers
are rising.
If you notice anything,
it leads you to notice
more
and more.
And anyway
I was so full of energy.
I was always running around, looking
at this and that.
If I stopped
the pain
was unbearable.
If I stopped and thought, maybe
the world
can’t be saved,
the pain
was unbearable.
Finally, I noticed enough.
All around me in the forest
the white moths floated.
How long do they live, fluttering
in and out of the shadows?You aren’t much, I said
one day to my reflection
in a green pond,
and grinned.
The wings of the moths catch the sunlight
and burn
so brightly.
At night, sometimes,
they slip between the pink lobes
of the moccasin flowers and lie there until dawn,
motionless
in those dark halls of honey.
I read this in the dimness of the early morning, the day after ending of daylight time in Manitoba. Across the river I would see dark forms on the bank. Rocks? No they hadn’t been there the previous evening. As darkness withdrew, these shapes revealed themselves as Canada Geese, who must have roosted there overnight. As I watched, a small group began to swim across the river, to the bank below our balcony, then another group, followed by a third, I marvelled at the impetus to change location, passed mysteriously from one family to the next. Then I realized that through some inner wisdom these geese knew how to angle themselves against the downstream river flow, so that they would travel in a straight line to reach their preferred spot. Amazing!
This morning I noticed scores of Canada Geese flying over my urban neighborhood. The bare branches of the city trees framed the straight lines and perfect points of their migration, each wave catching my breath and lifting my heart. I watched in awe how the each pilot goose relinquished its lead to the next, instinct and strength guiding them to their winter homes in the south.