The Journey: Diana Nyad, Mary Oliver, and Me

That’s Ruby on the left. Mary Oliver loved dogs, and this post needed a photo. I have no how Oliver felt about barbecue sauce.

The poet Mary Oliver died on Thursday. I almost hate to admit how much I like her work—not because she isn’t all morose and difficult like poets are supposed to be, but because some people (well, one person in particular) misappropriate and befoul her words.
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