Mary Oliver: In the Storm

In the Storm

 

Some black ducks
were shrugged up
on the shore.
It was snowing

 

hard, from the east,
and the sea
was in disorder.
Then some sanderlings,

 

five inches long
with beaks like wire,
flew in,
snowflakes on their backs,

 

and settled
in a row
behind the ducks --
whose backs were also

 

covered with snow --
so close
they were all but touching,
they were all but under

 

the roof of the duck's tails,
so the wind, pretty much,
blew over them.
They stayed that way, motionless,

 

for maybe an hour,
then the sanderlings,
each a handful of feathers,
shifted, and were blown away

 

out over the water
which was still raging.
But, somehow,
they came back

 

and again the ducks,
like a feathered hedge,
let them
crouch there, and live.

 

If someone you didn't know
told you this,
as I am telling you this,
would you believe it?

 

Belief isn't always easy.
But this much I have learned --
if not enough else --
to live with my eyes open.

 

I know what everyone wants
is a miracle.
This wasn't a miracle.
Unless, of course, kindness --

 

as now and again
some rare person has suggested --
is a miracle.
As surely it is.

 

- Mary Oliver