Who made the world?

Who made the swan and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean —

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

With your one wild and precious life?

I really should just pick up a book of Mary Oliver poems because I keep coming across them in other ways and they have all been so beautiful and so meaningful.  But this one…  it’s like she was watching me and making notes.

My mom will see me in this poem.  A red-headed, freckled girl whose hair is messy and whose knees are dirty or skinned and who wants nothing more than to lie in the grass, watching a grasshopper eat.  And to see something sacred in that.

What is more sacred than strolling through fields, paying attention to all the life there? What else would I do? What else should I do?  Everything is gone so soon and I want to soak it all up.  This IS what I want from my one wild and precious life. It makes my life feel precious – and connected – and part of the wildness of the world.

The theme of this concert is finding joy in the world, especially in unexpected places.  Joy is grasshoppers, flowers, the wind blowing just a certain way, an incredible sunset, cold creek water on my feet, a fawn watching me, birdsong, cicada shouts, a silent owl in flight, real-life glow worms, a baby jumping spider just doing his best, a dog tilting their head to understand, the smell of honeysuckle or wild roses or passion flower or fallen leaves, the same scene in winter, spring, summer, fall, winter again, clouds, dolphins, sharks, marmots, pikas, goats, baby goats (they deserve their own mention because — omg), kittens, snuggly puppies, possums, raccoons, crows, beavers, otters, garden spiders, ants, the branches of a tree, the roots of another, the grasses growing in a field, the praying mantis who has caught a butterfly on a purple thistle.  Tell me what else should I have been doing?  This IS a prayer. It is the purest prayer.