Mindful

Every day I see or I hear 

Something that more or less

Kills me with delight,
That leaves me like a needle

In the haystack of light.
It is what I was born for – to look, to listen,

To lose myself inside this soft world –
To instruct myself over and over

In joy, and acclamation.
Nor am I talking about the exceptional,

The fearful, the dreadful, the very extravagant –
But of the ordinary, the common, the very drab,

The daily presentations. Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself, how can you help

But grow wise with such teachings
As these – the untrimmable light

Of the world, the ocean’s shine,
The prayers that are made out of grass?

~ Mary Oliver