I Worried

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not how shall

I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

Mary Oliver

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up. And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang.

Mary Oliver’s recalls us to the wonder of our animal bodies again and again, even as we age and are overcome with worry at what will become of us. Her poetry reminds us how much we can learn and how much we can let go of by taking our senses on a magic-carpet ride into the natural world. Nothing is too small or inconsequential, nothing too vast to be soaked up through our eyes, touched by our hands, felt with our skin, held and tasted in our mouths.