On Kindness, Thirst, and Storms

a poem by Mary Oliver + a writing prompt + January Writing Hour

Welcome to Writing in Company. Each week I share some words and a writing prompt, meant to be jumping-off points for you to write about what matters. Use the prompts however you like—to journal, to draft thoughts for your own writing project, as meditation or prayer ideas, or for another creative endeavor. You can always look back through the archive for more ideas. Grab your pen and paper, and let your words loose on the page.

I’m sitting with the anxious dog as a storm barrels across the southeast: high winds, rain, and the possibility of lightning, thunder, hail. As long as the electricity holds out, these are good conditions for me to get some work done, except the dog won’t settle into her usual snoozy companionship. She is pacing, freezing to check the tree limbs outside, then drifting back to my side. She hasn’t yet made her way under the bedside table or my desk upstairs—two of her usual hiding places—but the day is young and the storm will be long. I’m trying to be patient and kind, as she so often is.

On today’s to-do list are final plans for an upcoming workshop at a conference for church educators, who are some of my favorite people. This year’s theme is about our thirst—for justice, life, kindness, and joy—and I’m using poems from Mary Oliver’s collection titled Thirst as a guide. The collection gives voice to Oliver’s grief after the death of her partner Molly, and explores her faith, as well as her ongoing love affair with the natural world.

One of the poems I tagged about kindness is this one: In the Storm¹

In the Storm

Some black ducks
were shrugged up
on the shore.
It was snowing

hard, from the east,
and the sea
was in disorder.
Then some sanderlings,

five inches long
with beaks like wire,
flew in,
snowflakes on their backs,

and settled
in a row
behind the ducks—
whose backs were also

covered with snow—
so close
they were all but touching,
they were all but under

the roof of the duck's tails,
so the wind, pretty much,
blew over them.
They stayed that way, motionless,

for maybe an hour,
then the sanderlings,
each a handful of feathers,
shifted, and were blown away

out over the water
which was still raging.
But, somehow,
they came back

and again the ducks,
like a feathered hedge,
let them
crouch there, and live.

If someone you didn't know
told you this,
as I am telling you this,
would you believe it?

Belief isn't always easy.
But this much I have learned—
if not enough else—
to live with my eyes open.

I know what everyone wants
is a miracle.
This wasn't a miracle.
Unless, of course, kindness—

as now and again
some rare person has suggested—
is a miracle.
As surely it is.

—Mary Oliver

a writing prompt

Take a line or image from the poem and let it start your wondering on the page.

I’m noticing that the poet must have lived with her eyes open for over an hour on a stormy beach as she watched this scene unfold. What would it look like to live with our eyes open for kindness, no matter what is swirling around us?

Or write about one of these questions:

• When have you seen or experienced an unexpected act of kindness?

• How are you caring for yourself and other anxious loved ones in your life during whatever storms or thirst are prevalent?

Don’t forget how writing helps anxious human ones and is an act of kindness to yourself.

January Writing Hour - this Saturday, Jan. 13, 4 pm Eastern

My next live writing hour on Zoom for paid subscribers is this Saturday at 4 pm Eastern. If you want to write in company with others, you are welcome to join us. You can upgrade your subscription for a month ($7) just to try it. A separate email to paid subscribers will go out with the link, or you can find it on my Substack tab called Writing Hours. Let’s write together.

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Photo by Mathew Schwartz on Unsplash

1. Poem by Mary Oliver from Thirst: Poems, Boston, Beacon Press, 2006. Permission granted for non-commercial use by the Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency

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