Buck Moon

While inviting folks out of svasana during last night’s Deep Stretch Vinyasa class, I had the pleasure of reading Mary Oliver’s Buck Moon–From the Field Guide to Insects. It was the perfect end to a lovely class centered around moon salutations, groundedness, and deepening into hip openers.


Eighty-eight thousand six-hundred
different species in North America. In the trees, the grasses
around us. Maybe more, maybe
several million on each acre of earth. This one
as well as any other. Where you are standing
at dusk. Where the moon
appears to be climbing the eastern sky. Where the wind
seems to be traveling through the trees, and the frogs
are content in their black ponds or else
why do they sing? Where you feel
a power that is not you but flows
into you like a river. Where you lie down and breathe
the sweet honey of the grass and count
the stars; where you fall asleep listening
to the simple chords repeated, repeated.
Where, resting, you feel
the perfection, the rising, the happiness
of their dark wings.