If I walk out into the world in irritation or
self-centeredness, the birds scatter.

I would like people to remember of me, how 
inexhaustible was her mindfulness.

The hurricane may find us or it will not, that
will always be the way.

With Shelley, I feel the visceral experience 
of imagination.

Can you imagine anyone having a "casual" faith?

"This is what I know from years of being me," said 
a friend.

You will always love me.

About God, how could he give up his secrets and
still be God?

If you think you see a face in the clouds, why not
send a greeting?  It can't do any harm.

("A Little Ado About This And That", Mary Oliver, printed in Blue Horses, 2014)