Why I Wake Early

by Mary Oliver

Goldenrod, Late Fall This morning the goldenrod are all wearing their golden shirts fresh from heaven’s soft wash in the chill night. So it must be a celebration. And here comes the wind, so many swinging wings! Has he been invited, or is he the intruder? Invited, whisper the golden pebbles of the weeds, as they begin to fall over the ground. Well, you would think the little murmurs of the broken blossoms would have said otherwise, but no. So I sit down among them to think about it while all around me the crumbling goes on. The weeds let down their seedy faces cheerfully, which is the part I like best, and certainly it is as good as a book for learning from. You would think they were just going for a small sleep. You would think they couldn’t wait, it was going to be that snug and even, as all their lives were, full of excitation. You would think it was a voyage just beginning, and no darkness anywhere, but tinged with all necessary instruction, and light, and all were shriven, as all the round world is, and so it wasn’t anything but easy to fall, to whisper Good Night.