When I think too much

Have I lived enough?

Have I loved enough?

Have I considered Right Action enough,

have I come to any conclusion?

I say this, or perhaps I'm just thinking it.

Actually, I probably think too much.

Then I step out into the garden,

where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,

is tending his children,

the roses.  

Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings

(An explosion of pink roses is the view from my kitchen window today.  It makes the swirling in my head and my heart slow to the simple gratitude we were meant to live in.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.  This is too much grace.  Suddenly the cross I bear is lighter.)