Mary Oliver yet again

Today I offer not just a poem, but a musical rendition of it: choral. The music, written by my husband. Go to this link, and you can hear it performed. And you can see the score here. (Okay, the score is also at the first link. I'm just trying to have something to say here.) At the link, he also explains what he was thinking as he composed the piece—which might benefit you if you choose to listen.

(After a while the link may not work, so if you can't find it, just read the poem! But for now, it's up.)

And now I'll just let Mary Oliver speak—with . . .

Messenger

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's Covid-19 numbers for MoCo (oh, how I'd love to see them start dropping): 3,545 confirmed cases, up a whopping 166 since yesterday (so much for my wish); 237 hospitalizations (up 10); and deaths remain steady, for now, at 21.

Stay safe. Stay healthy.