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Every time I read Mary Oliver I cry.
Usually they're joyous, loving, happy tears caused by a deep resonance, an unearthing of memories, or a sudden feeling of clarity and bliss. But then sometimes they're just tears...like the words on the paper are speaking to someone I didn’t know I still knew, but remain, buried beneath the surface. Oliver's work is about connection, nature, love, and the silly peculiarities of life. I am so effected by her latest collection "Felicity" that I wanted to share a few poems that struck me as important.