In winter all the singing is in the tops of the trees where the wind-bird with its white eyes

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black b… Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean– the one who has flung herself out…

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your kn… for a hundred miles through the de… You only have to let the soft anim… love what it loves.

On a summer morning I sat down on a hillside to think about God – a worthy pastime.

From a single grain they have mult… When you look in the eyes of one you have seen them all. At the edges of highways they pick at limp things.

She steps into the dark swamp where the long wait ends. The secret slippery package drops to the weeds. She leans her long neck and tongue…

Needing one, I invented her— the great-great-aunt dark as hicko… called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting… or The-Beauty-of-the-Night. Dear aunt, I’d call into the leav…

The river Of my childhood, That tumbled Down a passage of rocks And cut-work ferns,

Is the soul solid, like iron? Or is it tender and breakable, lik… the wings of a moth in the beak of… Who has it, and who doesn’t? I keep looking around me.

Meditation is old and honorable, s… not sit, every morning of my life,… looking into the shining world? Be… attended to, delight, as well as h… Can one be passionate about the ju…

Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light,

In the early curtains of the dusk it flew, a slow galloping this way and that way

Not quite four a.m., when the rapt… strikes me from sleep, and I rise from the comfortable bed and go to another room, where my books ar… in their neat and colorful rows. H…

Understand, I am always trying to… what the soul is, and where hidden, and what shape and so, last week,

Did you too see it, drifting, all… Did you see it in the morning, ris… An armful of white blossoms, A perfect commotion of silk and li… into the bondage of its wings; a s…