It begins, as so many of her poems do, in the natural world, and ends, as so much of her work does, in the life of the mind, in the midst of reflection.
Here are the final lines:
First you figure out what each one means by itself,
the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop
full of moonlight.
Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.
(Read the whole poem here, at The Poetry Foundation.)
May she rest in peace.
Mary Oliver, 1935-2019
Tricia Stohr-Hunt at The Miss Rumphius Effect is hosting the roundup this week.