Shore
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I walk beside the ocean, then turn and continue walking just beside the first berm, a few yards from the water which is at half tide. Eventually I find what I’m looking for, a plant green and with the flavor of raw salt, and leaves shaped like arrow-heads. But before that, down the long shore, I have seen many things: shells, waves, once a pair of whimbrels, gulls and terns over the water, rabbits long-legging it through the thickets above the berm. I kneel and pick among the green leaves, not taking all of any plant but a few leaves from each, until my knapsack is filled. Keep your spinach; I’ll have this. Then I stroll home. I’ll cook the leaves briefly; M. and I will eat some and put the rest into the freezer, for winter. The only thing I don’t know is, should the activity of this day be called labor, or pleasure?
—Mary Oliver
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Poem: Song of the Shore to the Sea
Poem: Song of the Sea to the Shore
Poem: Sudden Calm at Maywood Shores
Poem: Snowy Owl Near Ocean Shores
Poem: "I shall go back again to the bleak shore"