In Blackwater Woods, by Mary Oliver

I didn't feel I could jump into something chatty after the horror of the Bondi Shooting lingers in my heart.  So I did what I often do,  when feeling sad and vulnerable,  I looked for a poem.  I really do find solace in the right poems. Here's one I found that I am happy to share with you:

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

nameless now.

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it

go,

to let it go.

   Mary Oliver
In Blackwater Woods

I struggle with the letting go, 
it's good to be reminded from time to time,  
how essential it is...