Poetry and Stuff (gosh, that sounds like I'm 14 ;p)

I don't intend to turn this into The Poetry Blog, but I am going to post another of my favorites just a few more lines down the screen. Never fear though, the horses aren't far off as I'm planning on taking Asia and Babe to horse camp tomorrow, if Miss Finicky will load. Y'all please keep your fingers crossed for me because if I can get Asia there, she's guaranteed a good time. Sunday will be full of India as Jenny and I have an appointment at 2:00 to work with her. I'd like to get her under tack before summer and one of us up on her just walking around the arena. She's still too young for hard work, but she's old enough for light and I don't want her thinking that all there is to life is grazing. There will be photos. I've got a Flickr account and I know how to use it.

Also, I finally got the stitches out of my left foot last Monday. Imagine my surprise when there was still a hole, albeit a small one. After all, what was the point of stitches if not to create a smooth surface, or barring scarring, at least close the gap? I'm a bit flummoxed by the results and honestly, the foot still hurts quite a bit. Oh, not enough to take to my bed with a fit of the vapors, but enough that I'm glad I don't still wait tables. Now that the stitches are gone, I need to call Corrie and arrange another lesson. It's been over a month since I went boinging around her dressage arena feeling like a newbie.

Now, onto the poem and then I'm running off to watch Battlestar Galactica. The TiVO is recording it and by waiting this long (15 minutes into the show), I can fast forward through the commercials. If you're not watching BSG, you're missing out and it's too late to start now. The mythology is complex and I couldn't begin to explain it to you. But suffice it to say you should start from the beginning and inhale.


Wild Geese 
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees 

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. 

Meanwhile the world goes on. 

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees, 

the mountains and the rivers. 

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again. 

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination, 

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –

over and over announcing your place 

in the family of things.

Find your place, peeps.