Last week was the end of the holidays. For me, it mostly consisted of errands, “DIY”, planning and sorting. Perimenopausal hormones were getting me down and the children’s school anxiety was steadily building. It was a transitional week, a return to work and focus and the normal demands of normal life.

I listened to an interview with Mary Oliver on YouTube (https://youtu.be/DkJTcB27hHI?si=mxMMGTrQwMb64HGL ). She talked about the beauty of life and nature. She talked about walking outside, with a notebook in hand. And she talked about how poetry is like song or prayer, how words can resonate with us and become our own. The interviewer brought a recording of her daughter reading The Summer Day. They reflected on how many of us have those words committed to memory, how they become part of us: “Tell me, what will you do with your one wild and precious life?”

As the week went on, I found that, even in the mundane things, and even in the muddle of overwhelm, annoyance and anxiety, life is certainly wild and precious. We can choose to live it that way too, mindful and aware of all that is wild and precious about it.

Like how my daughter spent hours with the dog we were helping to look after, and how they soothed each other.

Like how my son spent hours watching the worker ants emerge from eggs laid by the queens he collected. They are tiny and baby-like, but somehow still appear intrepid and diligent as they explore their surroundings.

Like my solitary walk around the field, picking blackberries and taking in the sky, the grass, the turning leaves and the hint of summer’s end in the breeze.

Like the afternoon spent painting the little summer house with my mother-in-law, the sky darkening with clouds outside, the wind blowing the door open and shut, and my daughter and the dogs snuggled on the chair.

Like the sound of rain on the roof at night and the cool, fresh mornings, and the cat in a patch of afternoon sun.

Like my son whooping as he drove his quad bike through the mud as the evening drew in.

Like the eggs from the chickens, round and brown in our palms, and the scent of apple cake filling the kitchen.

Mary Oliver’s words stayed with me through the week, like a kestrel hovering. Her question compelled me to get up, make coffee and live each day, whether that meant loading the dishwasher, listening to someone who needed to talk, taking my children swimming or feeding the pet gecko.

What about you? What wild and precious moments are you grateful for this week?