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Archive for May, 2020

Within these walls
I’ve found myself
again:
had to stop
not dead in my tracks
but
very much alive, IMG_2525
listening to spring
rain
its drum
beating
pounding
keeping
my prisoner heart
in tune
with life blooming
around me:
my window
a portal
to growth
and change.

The walnut
has dressed
its winter limbs
in
eye popping
green,4D7A998A-7A71-48A2-8C7C-728562388898_1_201_a
like time lapse photography
its leaves
unfold,
and now the sweet
shoots
squirrels
risk their lives
to gorge on,
tiptoeing
onto the smallest
lightest
baby limb,
have hardened
turning into
shells
to harbor
the bitter
black walnuts
which later
in summer
tired
mama squirrels
will collect for fall
their broods having
sucked
their teats
dry
wondering off
in search
of perfect
hideaways
for winter booty
little pirates
their golden tails
waving
in the summer breeze.

Goldfinches,
warblers,
bushtits,B1385D2D-4A07-4F7A-B16B-0697FC4E68D1_1_201_a
nuthatches,
even a Townsend’s warbler
have feasted
on sunflower hearts,
each
dining at the feeder
in turn
as nesting
came and went.
But now,
after
her second brood
no doubt,
mama squirrel65C0D52C-0ED6-4340-A73A-8DEC0B281BE4
has learned
the perfect jump
onto
the caged
diner –
she clings
trapeze artist
upside down
her tongue
flicking the edge
of the feeder’s tray
to suck in
the luscious seed
one paw
reaching in
scooping
seed to her waiting
gaping mouth.

Today
two hummingbirds
flew rings
around the feeder
like a gyroscope
I played with
as a child,
a crow watching them
with disdain
from top
the neighbor’s fir tree,
ruffling his black
neck feathers
cawing
like a disapproving
uncle.

Tomorrow
at dawn
I’ll turn.
coffee in hand
to my window
blessed
for the warmth
and
lessons learnt
as I find myself
once again…

 

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Once again the walnut tree
offers me solace:
bent bough
leaves
big as boats
heavy with spring rain
likeIMG_2525
hope.
At dawn
fog
lifts,
the city
sickly silent
but
for geese
overhead
free
to fly
away,
from
days of fear
their long
necks
grazed
by wind drifts
plunging
headlong
into
the unknown;
they welcome it
with grace:
honking wildly:
beauty
to the guillotine.

It’s not for me
this heartache,
my soul trapped
in a tired ribcage,
but for the babies
so pure in joy
whose
touch softens
my journey
like milk white down.
Somewhere in the wind
I hear their cry:
lonely
searching
for their pack
their tribe
in this darkened world.
I am here
to soothe
to soften
to witness,
but cruelly
only from afar.

In the coolness
of the morning
I sing a song
in a language
filled with longing
to wrap them warmly
in the early light.
Knowing how easily
things may vanish…..

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                                              

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