Sunday Morning

bird-hand-gentle

It is one of the perils of our so-called civilized age that we do not yet acknowledge enough, or cherish enough, this connection between soul and landscape — between our own best possibilities, and the view from our own windows. We need the world as much as it needs us, and we need it in privacy, intimacy, and surety. We need the field from which the lark rises — bird that is more than itself, that is the voice of the universe: vigorous, godly joy. Without the physical world such hope is: hacked off. Is: dried up. Without wilderness no fish could leap and flash, no deer could bound soft as eternal waters over the field; no bird could open its wings and become buoyant, adventurous, valorous beyond even the plan of nature. Nor could we.

~ Mary Oliver, Home from Long Life: Essays and Other Writings


Credits: Photo – The Lilac Road

why i feed the birds

bird-in-hand

once
i saw my grandmother hold out
her hand cupping a small offering
of seed to one of the wild sparrows
that frequented the bird bath she
filled with fresh water every day

she stood still
maybe stopped breathing
while the sparrow looked
at her, then the seed
then back as if he was
judging her character

he jumped into her hand
began to eat
she smiled 

a woman holding
a small god 

~ Richard Vargas, why i feed the birds

 


Image Credit. Poem Credit. Poem from Vargas’ book Guernica at Amazon here.

Doubt

photography, black and white, bird, hand, bird in hand

It was like the moment when a bird decides not to eat from your hand, and flies, just before it flies,

the moment the rivers seem to still and stop because a storm is coming, but there is no storm,

as when a hundred starlings lift and bank together before they wheel and drop,

very much like the moment, driving on bad ice, when it occurs to you your car could spin, just before it slowly begins to spin,

like the moment just before you forgot what it was you were about to say, it was like that, and after that, it was still like that, only all the time.

Marie Howe, “Part of Eve’s Discussion” from The Good Thief

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