Picking Blueberries, Austerlitz, New York,1957
Once, in summer
in the blueberries,
I fell asleep, and woke
when a deer stumbled against me.
I guess
she was so busy with her own happiness
she had grown careless
and was just wandering along
listening
to the wind as she leaned down
to lip up the sweetness.
So, there we were
with nothing between us
but a few leaves, and wind’s
glossy voice
shouting instructions.
The deer
backed away finally
and flung up her white tail
and went floating off toward the trees -
but the moment she did that
was so wide and so deep
it has lasted to this day;
I have only to think of her -
the flower of her amazement
and the stalled breath of her curiosity,
and even the damp touch of her solicitude
before she took flight -
to be absent again from this world
and alive, again, in another
for thirty years
sleepy and amazed,
rising out of the rough weeds
listening and looking.
Beautiful girl,
where are you?
Notes
Where January Gill O’Neil’s Honeycrisp devoured the domestic apple down to its pulp, core, and seed in rapt devotion, Mary Oliver’s Picking Blueberries, Austerlitz, New York, 1957 draws us into the quiet, sunlit scrub of the hills, where the simple labor of gathering wild fruit dissolves all earthly ambition. The act of filling pale tin pails with dusty blue berries captures the tranquil suspension of the ego, showing how the soul finds true nourishment not by striving for grand conquests, but by losing itself entirely in the patient, generous abundance of the untamed earth. It bathes August’s theme of Feast in gentle, golden nostalgia, reminding us that the richest table of late summer is spread freely along the wooded slopes, waiting for hands willing to stain themselves blue in quiet gratitude. #poetry #maryoliver #feast #august #blueberries