“Last night in the fieldsI lay down in the darkness to think about death,but instead I fel
“Last night in the fieldsI lay down in the darkness to think about death,but instead I fell asleep,as if in a vast and sloping roomfilled with those white flowersthat open all summer, sticky and untidy,in the warm fields.When I woke the morning light was just slippingin front of the stars,and I was covered with blossoms.I don’t know how it happened—I don’t know if my body went diving downunder the sugary vines in some sleep-sharpened affinitywith the depths, or whether that green energyrose like a wave and curled over me, claiming mein its husky arms.I pushed them away, but I didn’t rise.Never in my life had I felt so plush, or so slippery,or so resplendently empty.Never in my life had I felt so nearthat porous linewhere my own body was done withand the roots and the stems and the flowersbegan.” ~Mary Oliver -- source link
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