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Gratefulness
It is a simple garment, this slipped-on world. We wake into it daily—open eyes, braid hair— a robe unfurled in rose-silk flowering, then laid bare.
And yes, it is a simple enough task we’ve taken on, though also vast: from dusk to dawn,
from dawn to dusk, to praise, and not be blinded by the praising. To lie like a cat in the sun, fur fully blazing,
and dream the mouse; and to keep too the mouse’s patient, waking watch within the deep rooms of the house, where the leaf-flocked
sunlight never reaches, but the earth still blooms.
Copyright 1994 by Jane Hirshfield from The October Palace, (Harper Perennial) and used by kind permission of the author.
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