On Monday, I fell in love


I was driving to work on Monday morning, listening to a podcast to fill the time. It was a conversation with Mary Oliver, a poet I had heard of once or twice. During that 30-minute drive, I learned that Oliver, now 79, has spent most of her life on Cape Cod, strolling the woods and fields and beaches with a notebook in hand, writing the most beautiful observations about nature — and human existence — that I have ever read.