Last night a crescent moon dropped gold in the arms of trees, and stars stayed perched in place, and then, this morning, a quiet wrap of fog. I didn’t hear it come and still the birds sing.

Mary Oliver guides this morning with her counsel: 

To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.

Margaret Atwood’s poem “Up” is also a wake-up call as she writes of changing our attitude when we struggle to get out of bed, by imagining it as our deathbed, and then we are given one more hour to live and forgive.

And then there is this: