Sunday, March 4, 2012

Peridot and Mary Oliver for Springtime


---Peridot Leaf Pendant---

---Peridot Leaf Dangles---

----Pebbles and Peridot Dangle Earrings----

---Pebbles and Peridot Circle Pendant---

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New to the shop!

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I can smell spring today....It's coming. The snow keeps falling, but there's a different smell to it. You know what I mean...... an infusion of springtime. More water or something. And it makes me crazy, that smell. I get all excited about spring. I love spring. I really really love spring. I think it's the dirt. and the gardening. and the puddles. Or just the length of winter here in Montana, it can extend into June some years, so any hint of green and sunshine is a glorious thing. really.

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so I'll leave you with miss Mary Oliver, she is my favorite...


Such Singing in the Wild Branches (2003)

It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves—
then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still

and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness—
and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree—
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing—
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky— all, all of them

were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

for more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then— open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.

— Mary Oliver, "Such Singing in the Wild Branches"
Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays,
Beacon Press, Boston, 2003