Look, the treesare turningtheir own bodiesinto pillars of light,are giving off the richfragrance of cinnamonand fulfillment, the long tapersof cattailsare bursting and floating away overthe blue shoulders of the ponds,and every pond,no matter what itsname is, is nameless now.Every yeareverythingI have ever learned in my lifetimeleads back to this: the firesand the black river of losswhose other side is salvation,whose meaningnone of us will ever know.To live in this world you must be ableto do three things:to love what is mortal;to hold it against your bones knowingyour own life depends on it;and, when the time comes to let itgo,to let it go.
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into the blackwater woods, mary oliver