How I go into the woods.
The light is softening, the swallows are leaving and the horse chestnuts are aflame: time to go into the woods.
How I Go to the Woods
Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable. I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my ways of praying, as you no doubt have yours. Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.
- Mary Oliver
I love Mary Oliver almost as much as I love autumn.
I’m looking for some autumn inspired poetry/writing. Any recommendations?