A sign?

When I left my job last December, I had been there for 27+ years. There were two parties for me and lots of lunches. Friends dropped by and I had some beautiful notes from colleagues around the country. But one co-worker just slipped me a quote by poet Mary Oliver:
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life."
I've kept it (in its original email form, on plain white copy paper) on my fridge since then.
This morning the entire poem appeared in my mailbox, courtesy of The Writer's Almanac.

The Summer Day 



Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean—

the one who has flung herself out of the grass, 

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. 

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. 

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, 

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

--Mary Oliver, from House of Light