"O crows circling over my head and cawing!
I admit to being, at times,
Suddenly, and without the slightest warning,
"Everything in nature invites us constantly to be what we are."
What is there for you in the birds, the birds, the birds,
crying down in the north wind in September—acres
of birds spotting the air going south?
Is there something finished? And some new beginning
on the way?
, from section “Falltime” in “Redhaw Winds,” Poetry
(Source: apoetreflects, via springrain)
Cave diver Dave Bunnel, 61, captured these stunning images of him diving into Mexico’s El Sotano de las Golodrinas, The Basement of Swallows — a 1,200-foot-deep hole in Mexico that is so deep, clouds form inside. The pit was first descended in December of 1967 by a trio of Americans. Its total depth is 1,638ft although the final few hundred feet accessible are only accessible through a pit series called The Crevice. It gets its name, the Basement of Swallows, thanks to the birds that fly above its opening.
Photo credit: Dave Bunnel
Wendell Berry, “There is no going back”
No, no, there is no going back.
Less and less you are
that possibility you were.
More and more you have become
those lives and deaths
that have belonged to you.
You have become a sort of grave
containing much that was
and is no more in time, beloved
then, now, and always.
And so you have become a sort of tree
standing over a grave.
Now more than ever you can be
generous toward each day
that comes, young, to disappear
forever, and yet remain
unaging in the mind.
Every day you have less reason
not to give yourself away.
inthelowlight via arsvitaest thanks to poem-locker
"Autumnal language: fullness and falling
away from the tree of self,"
, from section 3 of “The Tree,” in The Caged Owl: New & Selected Poems
(Copper Canyon Press, 2002)
(Source: apoetreflects, via whisperingsolitude)