Daisies to Begin

The journey begins on Monday. Garrett and I will go off into the blue yonder.

I do not know how the journey will change me. I do not know what the trees will whisper as the breeze tosses their leaves. I do not know where the blue bird will fly, above and ahead and below. I do not know what flower blooms on the farside of that hill. These things I do not know. I leave now, with unadorned reverence for the unknown. I leave now, and go into the mountains.
akb

Daisies

It is possible, I suppose that sometime we will learn everything there is to learn: what the world is, for example, and what it means. I think this as I am crossing from one field to another, in summer, and the mockingbird is mocking me, as one who either knows enough already or knows enough to be perfectly content not knowing. Song being born of quest he knows this: he must turn silent were he suddenly assaulted with answers. Instead oh hear his wild, caustic, tender warbling ceaselessly unanswered. At my feet the white-petalled daisies display the small suns of their center piece, their - if you don't mind my saying so - their hearts. Of course I could be wrong, perhaps their hearts are pale and narrow and hidden in the roots. What do I know? But this: it is heaven itself to take what is given, to see what is plain; what the sun lights up willingly; for example - I think this as I reach down, not to pick but merely to touch - the suitability of the field for the daisies, and the daisies for the field.
Mary Oliver

-Anna