Marsh After Stormy Weather

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.


from Messenger, by Mary Oliver


Most of the day was miserably stormy with strong winds and "mixed precipitation." My wife headed off island for a dentist appointment and ended up pulling over at her workplace instead because the driving conditions were surprisingly horrendous. One of those situations where you're passing accidents but it not even safe to tap on the brakes and slow down. It was hours before things improved enough to make her way home.

A little before sunset the rain stopped and the weather cleared. I walked out to the marsh looking for a photo and was greeted with the inspiring spectacle of clouds peeling towards me and revealing patches of blue sky and the setting sun. I stood there in a puddle and took photo after photo as the conditions constantly changed (and I was hoping the family of ducks meandering down the marsh might make its way into the frame). 

It was impossible not to think about this poem I had been listening to in the car during the week. After all,  my boots are old, having been bought about 25 years ago in a Walmart out West. And my coat is torn, having been caught on a nail when digging snowshoes out of the shed some days ago. I am no longer young. That half-perfect part is a little dicey but we can skip that one.

I stood there until my feet got sore and the clouds had blown away. As I write they are obviously back, since the wind and rain is once again pelting the house.


Addendum: 
- I posted a photo about 10 feet from this same spot here.

- In case the reader hasn't consumed Letter from Birmingham Jail recently, why not review it here?