Avenue of the Giants

We drove down Highway 101, next to the ocean in Oregon, into the giant redwoods in California. For part of the way, we took "The Avenue of the Giants," a road cut through towering silent redwoods.

I only have wifi for a few minutes, so let me first thank people for the many comments; thanks to the new subscribers; I thank Blip for the Staff Pick, thank the world that there are such people in it, thank the earth for all this magnificence. The sea. The trees. The marshes.  I am taking many pictures. I will back blip when I can. But here is this. And here is the poem we are reading aloud to each other, each day. The same poem. Because there is enough in it to last a long, long time. I don't have time to write out the whole thing, and I can't find it on the internet, but here is a piece.

Work

I am a woman sixty years old and of no special courage.
Everyday--a little conversation with God, or his envoy the tall pine, or
the grass-swimming cricket.
Everyday--I study the difference between water and stone.
Everyday--I stare at the world; I push the grass aside and stare at the world.

The spring pickerel in the burn and shine of the tight-packed water
the sweetness of the child on the shore; also, its radiant temper;
the snail climbing the morning glories, carrying his heavy wheel;
the green throats of the lilies turning from the wind.
This is the world....

--Mary Oliver.