In Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning their own bodies
into pillars of light,
are giving off their golden leaves
like creatures
that are letting go of sadness,
feeling the change,
and the birds
fly high in the sky,
the sound of the wind
dances, skipping over
the pools of water.
Rest, reflect—
this is the moment
to let go.
It is all a turning,
and the shadows glide
across the smooth ground.
Don’t mourn
what has departed.

• Mary Oliver