Walking Home from Oak-Head

"Walking Home from Oak-Head"

by Mary Oliver

There is something
  about the snow-laden sky
     in winter
        in the late afternoon

that brings to the heart elation
  and the lovely meaninglessness
         of time.
               Whenever I get home -- whenever --

somebody loves me there.
  Meanwhile
        I stand in the same dark peace
                as any pine tree,

or wander on slowly
   like the still unhurried wind,
         waiting,
               as for a gift,

for the snow to begin
   which it does
          at first casually,
                 then, irrepressibly.

Wherever else I live --
   in music, in words,
          in the fires of the heart,
                I abide just as deeply

in this nameless, indivisible place,
   this world,
         which is falling apart now,
                which is white and wild,

which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,
  our deepest prayers.
        Don't worry, sooner or later I'll be home.
               Red-cheeked from the roused wind,

I'll stand in the doorway
    stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
           my shoulders
                 covered with stars.


I wish you all the happiest of Thanksgivings, filled with many blessings.  And I also hope that, whenever you get home, that somebody loves you there.