Mindful

Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight
That leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light.
It was what I was born for-
To look, to listen
To lose myself
Inside this soft world-
To instruct myself
Over and over
In joy
And acclamation
Nor am I talking about the exceptional
The fearful, the dreadful
The very extravagant-
But of the ordinary,
The common, the very drab
The daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar
I say to myself
How can you help
But grow wise
With such teachings as these-
The untrimmable light of the world
The ocean's shine
The prayers that are made
Out of grass

-mary oliver