“Things!

Burn them, burn them!

Make a beautiful fire!

More room in your heart for love, for the trees!

For the birds who own nothing—the reason they can fly.” 

~ “Felicity,” Mary Oliver

I read this while Oliver is leaving again. As is his pattern, home for Christmas and those first, dark months in January. And then, like a bird, he’s often again, carrying so little in exchange for doing so much.