Sipping my fresh mint tea, I gaze across rooftops bowed by age to distant viridian hills, and ponder Seamus Heaney’s precise, radiant words. Medicine has rarely
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In her poem “In Blackwater Woods,” Mary Oliver concludes with 10 breathtaking lines: “To live in this world/ you must be able/ to do three things:/ to love what is mortal;/ to hold it/ against your bones knowing/ your own life depends on it;/ and, when the time comes to let it/ go,/ to let it go.”
I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately because I’m in a season of rebirth. Vegetables and flowers are beginning to bloom in my garden, which is so rewarding after a wet, cold, and barren winter here in Georgia. The sun is out, and the grass is turning green. I can feel myself unfurling and breathing deeply along with each fresh blade.