I'm back, with a beautiful poem by mary oliver.

every day
i see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light,
it was what i was born for-
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world-
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
nor am i talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant-
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
oh good scholar,
i say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these-
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

- mary oliver.