Day 35–Gone Fishin’

Some days you simply have to hang out the “Gone Fishin'” sign and call it a day. My goal with my blogs has been to inspire and stimulate thought on a given subject each day. In my gratitude blog, the focus was on encouraging the readers to ponder the ways in which gratitude showed up in their lives and to share various experiences, thoughts, and ideas about how it showed up (and continues to do so) in my life. Similarly, “Consider This,” is intended to invite readers to think about a variety of things, not being organized around a particular theme. There have been merits to having a theme, as well as those for keeping it open. Sometimes the ideas flow and other times, like any writer, I get stuck.

Tonight, however, I have hit a wall of sorts and so will take a break from daily blogging for the first time in nearly two years. I’m not sure how much time off I’ll need: the last time I took a break was back on February 11, 2012. At that point I had written 227 straight days on Lessons in Gratitude. After about a week (I started back up on February 19) I didn’t break again until today. I could start back up in the next few days or take a longer hiatus; I have no real idea at the moment. I offer my sincere thanks to those who have read and appreciated this blog and “Lessons in Gratitude” before it.

I’m going to close tonight’s posting with a poem by Mary Oliver that was introduced to me by my friend Mary, who posed to me the question from the last line as an inquiry for what I thought I might do next in my life. There is much to learn from poets, and this poem has provided me with much fodder for reflection on a variety of themes. I offer it to you as I take my leave. Enjoy.

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

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