Monday Morning Wake-Up Call: Get up!


The swans on the River Alster in Hamburg, Germany were caught and moved to their ice-free winter quarters on the Eppendorf Muehlenteich millpond. They will remain there until spring. (Bodo Marks/


Not a single feather trembles


Everything around it moves, as if just this one time and one time only, as if the message of Heraclitus has arrived here through some deep current, from the distance of an entire universe, in spite of all the senseless obstacles, because the water moves, it flows, it arrives, and cascades; now and then the silken breeze sways, the mountains quiver in the scourging heat, but this heat itself also moves, trembles, and vibrates in the land, as do the tall scattered grass-islands, the grass, blade by blade, in the riverbed; each individual shallow wave, as it falls, tumbles over the low weirs, and then, every inconceivable fleeting element of this subsiding wave, and all the individual glitterings of light flashing on the surface of this fleeting element, this surface suddenly emerging and just as quickly collapsing, with its drops of light dying down, scintillating, and then reeling in all directions, inexpressible in words; clouds are gathering; the restless, jarring blue sky high above; the sun is concentrated with horrific strength, yet still indescribable, extending onto the entire momentary creation, maddeningly brilliant, blindingly radiant.
There it is, in the middle of the Kamo, the water largely reaching up to its knees, hence the truly quite shallow weir, interspersed with small grassy enclaves, hence truly peculiar, if not the most bizarre river upon the globe, and the bird just stands, without a single movement, its body strained forward, waiting staggeringly long minutes for the day’s quarry, now already ten minutes, then a half-hour passes as well; in this waiting and attentiveness and motionlessness, time is cruelly long, and still it does not move, standing exactly the same, in exactly the same pose, not a single feather trembles, it stands, leaning forward, its beak bent at an acute angle over the mirror of the gurgling water; no one is looking, no one sees it, and if it’s not seen today then it is not seen for all eternity, the inexpressible beauty with which it stands shall remain concealed, the unique enchantment of its regal stillness shall remain unperceived: here with it, in the middle of the Kamo, in this motionlessness, in recognition that it is the one that gives meaning to everything around it, gives meaning to the spinning churning world of movement, to the dry parching heat, the vibrations, every whirling sound, scent, and picture, because it is a completely unique feature of this land, the unyielding artist of this landscape, who in its aesthetic of unparalleled motionlessness, as the fulfillment of unswerving artistic observation, rises once and for all above that to which it gives meaning, rises above it, above the frantic cavalcade of all the surrounding things, and introduces a kind of aimlessness — beautiful as well — above the local meaning permeating everything, as well as above that of its own actual activity, because what is the point of being beautiful, especially when it is just a white bird standing and waiting for something.

~ László Krasznahorkai, “Kamo-Hunter” from Seiobo There Below


Lightly child, lightly



And I have dreamed
of the morning coming in
like a bird through the window
not burdened by a thought.

the light a singing,
as I had hoped.


Wendell Berry, from “The Design of The House: Ideal and Hard Time” from New Collected Poems

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I do not know which to prefer


I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendos,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

~ Wallace Stevens, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

Image Source: livetalskare

And just like that


This morning the redbirds’ eggs
have hatched and already the chicks
are chirping for food.
They don’t know where it’s coming from,
they just keep shouting, “More! More!”
As to anything else, they haven’t
had a single thought. Their eyes
haven’t yet opened, they know nothing
about the sky that’s waiting. Or
the thousands, the millions of trees.
The don’t even know they have wings.

And just like that, like a simple
neighborhood event, a miracle is
taking place.

~ Mary Oliver, This Morning. Felicity: Poems

Photo: Mr. Greenjeans

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call


Photo by Lex Molenaar via

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call



  • Image Source: Black Swan via gost-47
  • Don’t miss post on Black Swans at wordsfromanneli: Black Swan

How small / How perfect


How small
How perfect
The feathered
Chest of
The Sparrow
Ruffled and ready
If I could
Hold her in my palm
Feel her courage
Through her hollow
Bird bones
I might be able
To fly

~ Kim Beyer-Johnson

Find Kim Beyer Johnson on WordPress here: 10,000 hours of play.

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call


Source: Mennyfox55

5:00 PM Bell!

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