Roses, Late Summer
by: Mary Oliver
What happens
to the leaves after
they turn red and golden and fall
away? What happens
to the singing birds
when they can't sing
any longer? What happens
to their quick wings?
Do you think there is any
personal heaven
for any of us?
Do you think anyone,
the other side of that darkness,
will call to us, meaning us?
Beyond the trees
the foxes keep teaching their children
to live in the valley,
so they never seem to vanish, they are always there
in the blossom of light
that stands up every morning
in the dark sky.
And over one more set of hills,
along the sea,
the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness
and are giving it back to the world.
If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
unstinting happiness.
I would be a fox, or a tree
full of waving branches.
I wouldn't mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.
Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish question.
Unstinting happiness. That's Oliver's only condition if she had another life. She doesn't care whether she's a fox or a tree or a single rose in a field choked with roses. As long as she's happy, Oliver will take whatever second life she's given.
I know yesterday's post was not very happy. In fact, I would go so far as to describe what I wrote as a little depressing. I couldn't help it. I wasn't feeling the whole Pollyanna vibe last night. Or the Mary Oliver vibe. Nope. I was feeling the Holden Caufield, the-world's-full-of-phonies vibe. And my mood hasn't changed much today. I'm still not sure what's wrong with my car, or how much it will cost to fix.
Life would be simpler if I were a rose in a field of roses. You see, human beings are the only living creatures on this planet who worry about things like car repairs or the future or death. On the other hand, flowers need just a couple things for happiness: sunlight and water, That's it.
So, I understand Oliver's inclination to life as a rose. No foolish questions or ambitions to screw things up. Just unstinting sweetness and beauty.
And Saint Marty wouldn't mind a little more of that in his life right about now.
❤️
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