In one of her most famous poems, “The Summer Day,” Mary Oliver asks, “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

I have apparently reached the stage in life when I now hear that line as: what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious day?

On Easter Sunday my friend George Merrill died. I will tell you that calling him my friend is quite bold because I never met him in person, but I read his lovely book about the Chesapeake Bay region, listened to his commentaries on our local public radio station, and read his essays in the local newspapers, and so came to think of him as a friend. His last essays were about the progression of his incurable disease and his and his wife’s struggle to come to terms with death up close and personal. I understand that they will be published, and I am looking forward to re-reading them when that happens. Meanwhile, I am focusing on my wild and precious days, one at a time.

Retirement has been a mixed blessing. I no longer have the constant flow of people who enriched my life by their presence in my library, classroom, and bookstore. The pandemic has only increased my feeling of semi-isolation from others whom I considered my friends. Gardening outside and clearing clutter inside only go so far toward making a day seem productive; without personal interaction, there is little opportunity to exchange ideas and share feelings. (I do that with books, of course, but they don’t respond to my attempts at conversation in any satisfying way.)

Given these limitations, it has become essential that I make the most of each and every unique day I am given. Some days are enriched by activities with family or friends, but I have learned (or am learning) how to live more like a cat — be happy in the moment of interaction and also be enriched with the rest, whether I am weaving, weeding, reading, cooking or listening to the birdsong that often fills our yard or the paths I take on my walks.

I am more aware of the way light appears when it is filtered by different obstacles it encounters, more interested in the way it changes the colors of familiar objects both inside and outside, and the way it influences where and when birds and animals rest or play or search for food. Everyday life is full of miracles that busy people do not have much time to notice, and I am grateful to now have that time. The trade-offs were subtle: a discomfort when I tried to do something I never gave a second thought to before, a lack of enthusiasm for doing something I used to love, or a reluctance to reach out to others in a personal way. Others have done this earlier in their lives, so I imagine myself to be having a Thoreau experience without the hassle of writing another Walden.

On this wild and precious day that is still unseasonably cool, I plan to make a pot of nourishing soup that will fill the kitchen with warmth and welcome. As well, I suspect that it will be enriching.

Lanny Parks has always loved books. She was a librarian at the EPFL in Baltimore, at Kent School, and Queen Anne’s County, and owned a local bookstore. Her weekly newspaper column ran for over 20 years. She has lived with her family in Chestertown for over 50 years.