The Egret
by: Mary Oliver
Every time and the white scrolls
but one of her belly,
the little fish and the white flame
and the green of her head.
and spotted frogs What more can you say
know about such wild swimmers?
the egret's bamboo legs They were here,
from the thin they were silent,
and polished reeds they are gone, having tasted
at the edge sheer terror.
of the silky world Therefore I have invented words
of water. with which to stand back
Then, on the weedy shore--
in their last inch of time with which to say:
they see, Look! Look!
for an instant, What is this dark death
the white froth that opens
of her shoulders like a white door?
Oliver is a master at finding profound meaning in tiny moments. The tiny moment in question this time is an egret feeding on fish and frogs in the shallows of a pond. In Oliver's hands/words, this moment becomes a meditation on terror and death. I can almost hear the echo of Matthew 24: "Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect."
The egret is coming at an hour you do not expect.
I took today off work. Not only that, I also took a two-hour nap this afternoon. As most of my faithful disciples know, I don't frequently have "free" time (is time ever free?). I purposely didn't respond to texts, didn't check emails, and only answered phone calls and messages from close family and friends. To use a buzzword that I sort of loathe, I completely disengaged.
Now, I didn't simply sit on my couch and ignore the world, obviously. I had dinner and watched a movie with my kids. Went for a couple walks with my puppy. Edited and released an episode of my podcast Lit for Christmas. Now, I'm writing my daily blog post. So, disengagement is a relative thing, I suppose. Basically, I only did things that I wanted to do. Things that gave me pleasure and satisfaction.
This year, I've been starting every one of my days the same way: I read a Mary Oliver poem. This morning, it was "The Egret." This ritual allows me to meditate on the poem du jour for a good length of time, to help me find my Mary moment, even when I'm trying to avoid my normal stresses and struggles.
Today, I found myself thinking about something my sister, Sally, taught me. At the end of my life, I'm never going to say to myself, "I wish I'd spent more time working." Nope. Work shouldn't be what defines me. When I'm gone, I hope people will remember me as a loving and devoted husband, father, brother, son, and friend. That's what's truly important. Sally was a workaholic, and she died at a very young age without getting the chance to retire and enjoy her golden years, if golden years even exist. So, her message seems even more cautionary and urgent now.
It was the first day of September. Blue and brilliant and warm. On one of my walks, I saw that my neighbor's apple tree was dropping its fruit. Autumn is around the corner, and, especially in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, winter is coming at an hour we do not expect.
So, I took advantage of today. Rested. Ate with my wife, son, and daughter. Read some poetry. Exercised. Wrote. Because the apples are falling, the egret is in the shallows, and winter will soon be breathing frost down our necks.
Saint Marty is now going to disengage from this post.
❤️
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