Mary Oliver's "Landscape"

Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that they have no tongues, could lecture all day if they wanted about spiritual patience?

Isn't it clear the black oaks along the path are standing as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

Every morning I walk like this around the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead.

Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now the crows break off from the rest of the darkness and burst up into the sky—as though all night they had thought of what they would like their lives to be, and imagined their strong, thick wings.

One of my favorite yoga teachers in the whole world, B.B., read this to us the other morning, before we began our practice, and I almost cried. Every time I take one of her classes I burst out of the doors of the studio with my heart cracked wide open, wondering "what do I want to be when I grow up?", truly believing that the entire galaxy is at my fingertips.