Loving sometimes seems to me an overused word.
To marvel, to appreciate, to rejoice in, to treasure...
these add juice to the sentiment, I'm thinking.
Yet, as with all words, its not the word itself...
but the invisible, sometimes intangible frequency invoked.
That hum in our bones when the words cross our retinas
or slip past our tympanic membrane causing vibrations of recognition and connection.
This poem is a symphony of pictures, hums, and vibrations.
Mary Oliver is a magician of words.
Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me keep my mind on what matters...
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