The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

I love summer. I love the open spaces the summer provides, the open spaces that give birth to so many precious and sweet moments to be savored. As passionate as my love for summer, my love for Fall might even be greater. And so I prepare to bid farewell to summer, three weeks early, in order to usher in the fall with all its coziness and warmth.

Goodbye summer. Thank you for the fond memories. Thank you for:

birthdays to celebrate

rock walls to climb

a beautiful Oregon coast to be enjoyed

 Creamsicles to be enjoyed

friends to go hiking with

chilly nights out by the fire

carnivals to catch fish at

moments hanging out, “fishing” by the pond

iced latte and coffee cake parties

and for the bountiful gardens you help fuel