Why I Wake Early

by Mary Oliver

it was only two inches long— and I thought: the soul might be like this— so hard, so necessary—

and the young girl I used to be heard it also, as she came swinging into the woods, truant from everything as usual except the clear globe of the day, and its beautiful details.

and I swear I pitied them, as I looked down into the theater of their perfect faces—

oh happy prisoner—

and even though he must know that hunger will win,

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!

I live in the open mindedness of not knowing enough about anything. It was beautiful.

When this happened it was about the middle of summer, which also has its purposes and only so many precious hours.

back into the rough, uncharted pinewoods where I have lived so much of my life, where everything is so quick and uncertain, so glancing, so improbable, so real.