We must begin to catch hold of everything <br />around us, for nobody knows what we <br />may need. We have to carry along <br />the air, even; and the weight we once <br />thought a burden turns out to form <br />the pulse of our life and the compass for our brain. <br />Colors balance our fears, and existence <br />begins to clog unless our thoughts <br />can occur unwatched and let a fountain of essential silliness <br />out through our dreams. <br /> <br />And oh I hope we can still arrange <br />for the wind to blow, and occasionally <br />some kind of shock to occur, like rain, <br />and stray adventures no one cares about -- <br />harmless love, immoderate guffaws on corners, <br />families crawling around the front room growling, <br />being bears in the piano cave.<br /><br />Mary Oliver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/toward-the-space-age/
