A Poem for the Season

Making the House Ready for the Lord
Mary Oliver

Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
Still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice—it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances—but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.

I like this poem. Yes, I do. I like this woman in the poem, whoever she is.

I have good news: Philadelphia is constantly revealing, albeit slowly, some lovely things about itself. Here is a charming factoid: O Little Town of Bethlehem, the popular Christmas song, was written by a priest at a church around the corner from where I live. I also like the fact that Emily Dickinson used to attend church here. Ain't bad to live in a place haunted by music and poetry!

I have shared before and after pics of my office at work! Looking far more legitimate, eh?