"This morning I watched the deer...
in the dampness carelessly, isn't it after all
the carpet of their house, their home, whose roof
is the sky?
this is the heaviness of the body watching the swallows
gliding just under that roof.
This is the wish that the deer would not lift their heads
and leap away, leaving me there alone.
This is the wish to touch their faces, their brown wrists
to sing some sparkling poem into
the folds of their ears,
over the hills
and over the hills
and into the impossible trees."
I love this Mary Oliver poem and always wish that I could "...walk with them, over the hills..."
Does anyone else feel like this?