In the heaviness of winter, I seek the light.
And as with prayer, which is a dipping oneself toward the light, there is a consequence of attentiveness to the grass itself, and the sky itself, and to the floating bird. I too leave the fret and enclosure of my own life. I too dip myself toward the immeasurable. Mary Oliver, Winter Hours: Prose, Prose Poems, and Poems
I am one of those who has no trouble imagining the sentient lives of trees, of their leaves in some fashion communicating or of the massy trunks and heavy branches knowing it is I who have come, as I always come, each morning, to walk beneath them, glad to be alive and glad to be there." Mary Oliver, Winter Hours: Prose, Prose Poems, and Poems
And so I wander and set aside my worries while looking for the light.