wild september

I can't believe it's September already. I love the fall, and it doesn't get much better than fall in Brooklyn. Maybe Paris. Or northern Michigan, with all the trees.

Truth is I have to admit that time is actually flying. I heard this happens when you get older, there just doesn't seem to be enough of it.

My dad sent me this poem yesterday. I really like it.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles
through the desert,
repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving
across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading
home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to
your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting... Over and over
announcing your place in the family of things.

- Mary Oliver

Happy Labo(u)r Day Everyone.
xxx