The rain is softly falling outside, and I am thankful that the garden is being refreshed.
I am inwardly relieved that the rain has returned (although hoping it is a brief visit).
It seems appropriate now to pull out a book my dear friend Shari-Anne has lent me...and I marvel in the poetry of Mary Oliver.
Given my recent travels, the longing for adventure that this inevitably re-ignites, and a recent ongoing internal dialogue about my life and purpose, I am drawn to this poem...may you enjoy as I have. (Missy, this one's for you...)
Like Magellan, let us find our islands
To die in, far from home, from anywhere
Familiar. Let us risk the wildest places,
Lest we go down in comfort, and despair.
For years we have labored over common roads,
Dreaming of ships that sail into the night.
Let us be heroes, or, if that's not in us,
Let us find men to follow, honor-bright.
For what is life but reaching for an answer?
And what is death but a refusal to grow?
Magellan had a dream he had to follow.
The sea was big, his ships were awkward, slow.
And when the fever would not set him free,
To his thin crew, "Sail on, sail on!" he cried.
And so they did, carried the frail dream homeward.
And thus Magellan lives, although he died.
- Mary Oliver