Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
unsuitable.
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love
you very much.
***
I sent this postcard to Shelly. I've been sending her nonstop postcards since she left for her latest trip to the mountains. I've had a lot of reactions when I tell people what she's up to. The first time she went, she was 15. We put her on a plane to Portland Maine, she was gone for a month. And she came home with great stories, she made new friends. success. She found a new program last summer on the West coast. Another success. This year, she's again on the West coast for a month in the mountains.
We both enjoy Mary Oliver's poetry. I feel a bit like an imposter, I enjoy the suburbs and don't make frequent efforts to get out into Nature. But Shelly. I think of Shelly when I read Mary Oliver's words. Her deep love and respect for the natural world.
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