May
22, 2020
Today’s
image – At dusk, I watched a frenzy of swifts dance into the summer stack like
a fistful of pennies whirling in slow motion around a vortex funnel. Hundreds flew in wide noisy parabolas, and then
unceremoniously dropped like feathered stones, out of sight. I tried to imagine
what it looked like inside the red brick column, how each swift clung to his
measure of mortar. If I could hover, owl silent above the chimney mouth, I
could take in an excellent view of their box, study how their collective bodies
resemble a dark cousin to the coral reefs. I would love to ask them some
questions about displacement. After a hundred winters and demise has gobbled most
of the chimney, where then does this frenzy go?
How many nights can the refugees make do in unwelcomed places, keeping
an eye on the horizon? Birds don’t know
time.
I
thinned out the root seedlings in the box gardens, tucked in some annuals at the
entrance bed. I’m giving more attention to small events that build moments into
days. Some days it feels like we have stepped above the fourth dimension,
trying to move our narrative along at ten feet using a nine-foot grabber. There is a bit of drift to the days. I’ve slowed down enough to enjoy the view from
the be here now window. Sometimes, my inner dialogue sounds something
like this - Now, well, I feel well, maybe a host, and if the fever comes, how
will I feel? Will I split my moments in half and then in half again to catch my
breath? Will I hold my head over the
sink, praying, praying, praying? Will I start at the beginning? Well, I am
well. This looping mirage makes me tired.
Better to be here now. Pay attention.
There
are those swifts again.
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