American Culture · American Literature · Autobiographical · Biographical · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Essay · Excerpt · Inspirational · Memoir · Motivational · Nature · Non-fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Spiritual

Mary Oliver

All summer they are red and pink and white tents of softness and nectar, which wafts and hangs everywhere–a sweetness so palpable and excessive that, before it, I’m struck, I’m taken, I’m conquered; I’m washed into it, as though it was a river, full of dreaming and idleness–I drop to the sand, I can’t move; I am restless no more; I am replete, supine, finished, filled to the last edges with an immobilizing happiness … Each flower is so small and lovely, but in their sheer and silent abundance the roses become an immutable force, as though the work of the wild roses was to make sure that all of us, who come wandering over the sand, may be, for a while, struck to the heart and saturated with a simple joy. — Mary Oliver, from “Blue Pastures,” Blue Pastures (Mariner Books, 1995)

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