A Glimmer of Light for a Rainy Mary Oliver Monday

Poppies by Mary Oliver from New and Selected Poems:  Volume One (Beacon Press)
The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn't a place
in this world that doesn't

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it's done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?

So many invitations to be happy and opportunities to be washed in the river of earthly delight this rainy Monday morning . . . the moment early this morning when there was a sudden absence of noise-- no traffic, no birds-- and all I could hear was the rain hitting the leaves on the maple tree outside my bedroom window, looking out that same window when I got out of bed an hour later and seeing a teeny tiny rabbit eating violets in the back yard, a breakfast of strong coffee and good watermelon and a morning of quiet writing time at my desk.  Oh-- and of course the poppies I planted last weekend nodding their red-heads in the rain.

What is inviting you to delight, to holiness, to redemption today?