Among the High Branches

The first day of school -- today was it for me and for my girls -- is my way of marking the end of summer. Taking on the responsibilities of the school year means shifting my mind into completely different rhythms. Time speeds up and that means less time for everything to settle into the quiet and out of stillness. Don't get me wrong. I love the rapidity of the school year, the possibilities unfolding, and the chance to help students learn, open up to things, and enjoy something -- school -- that's pretty easy to get the wrong idea about.

In "August," Mary Oliver catches that moment when everything has reached its purest place. "All day," she says, "my body accepts what it is." The poem helps her hold onto the self-forgetting experience of picking blackberries, tearing up her "ripped arms," and "cramming the black honey of summer" into her mouth. It's a little psalm of sorts and a reverent naming of a kind of greedy mindfulness.

My oldest turns three tomorrow, and for the last year I've watched her in total engagement with her life. It seems that all day, every day, her body "accepts what it is." I'm nervous for that to change and at the same time I'm excited for the new understandings and questions that will come for her as she lives and grows into more of the layers of being a fully-realized individual.