To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.
—Mary Oliver

This is my work in the world—
walking where spring has greened
the many waist-high grasses

and thickened the bracken and
sent up the tall spiky milk thistle
and the propeller-like wild radish.

I stroll really, often pausing mid-step
to bend and peer at something
blooming like an eager teenybopper,

its petals shimmying in a just-right
breeze. And though I may have
a glimmer of its name buried

in the overstuffed filing cabinet
of my brain, that’s not what’s
important. I snap its photo

anyway, wanting to capture
the whatsits at its peak, sparkly
and young and full of life—

as we all are for a time.
I remind myself to pay attention
to the tiniest of everyday miracles

because what better work
is there than to walk through
the world and acknowledge

the lovely ones, whether we
know their names or not?
Those who likely see

themselves as the most
ordinary of living things,
but whose very existence,

however fleeting, blesses us all.