Duh!

bird-fish-chart


Source: NY Magazine (8/16/15)

Hello… they seem to cry, who… are… you?

Also invariable present at some indefinable distance are the mourning doves whose plaintive call suggests irresistibly a kind of seeking-out, the attempt by separated souls to restore a lost communion:

Hello… they seem to cry, who… are… you?

And the reply from a different quarter. Hello… (pause) where… are… you?

No doubt this line of analogy must be rejected. It’s foolish and unfair to impute to the doves, with serious concerns of their own, an interest in questions more appropriate to their human kin. Yet their song, if not a mating call or a warning, must be what it sounds like, a brooding meditation on space, on solitude. The game.

~ Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire


Notes: Related posts from Edward Abbey: Desert Solitaire

Feel the breath of its song

fox-sparrow-bird

A clear, sharp, whistled voice peals up from the salmonberries. I follow it back along a narrow trail and find its maker: a fox sparrow twenty feet up in an elderberry tree. Wholly engaged in its performance, the bird takes no notice as I ease in below. It looks very plain – reddish-brown on the back, speckled on the breast and sides. Perhaps most of its evolutionary energy went into perfecting this ambrosial song. Every note is like a beam of brilliant light, woven into a complex, shimmering web. And with each sound, a tiny plume of steam puffs from the sparrow’s opened beak, rings and wreathes and curls outward, and dissolves into the crystal morning air. I can almost feel the breath of its song against the bare flesh of my face and fingers. Rich phrases pour down, and the leafless thicket trembles with its own living voice.

~ Richard Nelson, The Island Within


Notes:

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

ostrich-cute-morning-wake-up-call-funny


Source: Thank you Cindy Knoke.

MMWC*: Where the H*ll is my Breakfast?

baby-heron-cute-adorable


Source: teatimestories (baby blue Heron lookin’ like a pterodactyl). MMWC* = Monday Morning Wake-Up Call.

What I feel is scarcely a twitch

photography

I try to imagine the entire force of this storm flinging itself onto a thousand miles of Pacific coast, the multitude of gusts rolling over the land during every second of its passage, the combined power and noise and energy felt only by the continent itself. Listening to a single gust billow through the timber, I realize that what I feel is scarcely a twitch in the larger scale of things, like the swirl from one stroke of a bird’s wing.

~ Richard Nelson, The Island Within


Image: Endlesspetrichor

What is striking

art

We are so small and
the greatness is so great. […]
What is striking is
the enormous force of weakness.

~ Hélène Cixous, from “The Cauliflower of the Lautaret,” Love Itself: In the Letter Box


Credits: Image – Exactly  Poem: The Journey of Words

 

This way. This way.

arrow-forward

I follow the sound
past a black window
where a bird sits
like a blacker question,
To where? To where? To where?

~ Li-Young Lee, from “Furious Versions,” in The City in Which I Love You


Credits: Poem Source: metaphorformetaphor. Image: Nini Poppins

Monday Monday Wake-Up Call: Shower Time!

bird-bath-shower-gif-cute-1cute, adorable


Source: Chikita Banana

Saturday Morning

peace-sleep-light-portrait
Meditation can happen anywhere – in a supermarket, in a forest, in your hospital bed. It is not a ‘doing’ but the unravelling of doing, a remembrance of the immediacy of life, the thrilling closeness of experience, the fragrance of Home. A single breath, the sound of a bird singing, the beeping of a heart monitor – all of these are little reminders of your true life. With your eyes open, with your eyes closed, remember, you are here, and always will be.

Make contact.

— Jeff Foster, Unexpected Meditation


Photo: precious things