Immer und immer wieder komme ich auf Mary Oliver zurück. Komme ich zu Mary Oliver zurück. Ich kann mir nicht helfen. Ich will mir gar nicht helfen.

Hier ist „THE OTHER KINGDOMS“ von Mary Oliver.

Consider the other kingdoms. The

trees, for example, with their mellow-sounding

titles: oak, aspen, willow.

Or the snow, for which the peoples of the north

have dozens of words to describe its

different arrivals. Or the creatures, with their

thick fur, their shy and wordless gaze. Their

infallible sense of what their lives

are meant to be. Thus the world

grows rich, grows wild, and you too,

grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too

were born to be.

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