This poem was on the Writer’s Almanac this morning and it reminded me of the first long chapter of Dandelion Wine where Douglas realizes he’s alive (well, mortal; he’s 11 in the book so obviously he’s been alive and known about it for some time).

Anyway. Good old Mark Strand gives us another lovely poem:

My Name

Once when the lawn was a golden green
and the marbled moonlit trees rose like fresh memorials
in the scented air, and the whole countryside pulsed
with the chirr and murmur of insects, I lay in the grass,
feeling the great distances open above me, and wondered
what I would become and where I would find myself,
and though I barely existed, I felt for an instant
that the vast star-clustered sky was mine, and I heard
my name as if for the first time, heard it the way
one hears the wind or the rain, but faint and far off
as though it belonged not to me but to the silence
from which it had come and to which it would go.