I can't sleep…
Gazing at the ‘Black Sun’: The Transfixing Beauty of Starling Murmurations (NY Times, April 4, 2022)
Each spring and autumn, the skies in southern Denmark come to life with the swirling displays of hundreds of thousands of starlings, an event known locally as “sort sol.”
Don’t miss photos and article here.
Thank you Susan.
697 days, almost consecutive. Like in a row. This daybreak walk at Cove Island Park.
38° F, feels like 30° F, flashes Dark Sky app. Sorry, but that’s crap. Winds gusting up to 35 mph.
Just look at those clouds overhead in the photo. Even they’re huddled together trying to stay warm.
I’m standing in the exact same spot as my last post. That pure and clean moment. That soul lifting moment, lifting me, elevating me up and over my pesky, 1st world problems.
And here we are, a week later, and I’m feeling nothing. Nothing spiritual. Nothing soul lifting.
Jill Horton’s words are pumping into my earbuds on Audible from her title “We are All Perfectly Fine.” No, we’re not perfectly fine Jill. “What’s that like? It’s like bullshit…it’s like violence to my soul.”
So the picture must be crystalizing for you this morning. We’re cold, we’re in a pissy mood, and not really sure why. Why not turn this bus around, suspend this walk, go back home, roll under the covers and sleep it off? Whatever the hell ‘this’ is. But I know that I excel at wallowing in it.
I keep walking.
I pull the hoody (‘hoody’ Dale, not ‘hoodie’, or some other French Canadian separatist derivation) over my head to cut some of this wind. And I pick up the pace to warm these bones.
I walk the breakwall, taking care to avoid the slime, to avoid a headlong tumble, to add to the morning woes.
I hear a scurrying in the stones.
I hit pause on Audible, yank my ear buds out and stop.
5:15 a.m. I’m out the door. Dark Sky is calling for rain. Let’s see.
It’s been ~675 mornings, almost consecutive. Like in a row. I’m on my daybreak walk @ Cove Island Park.
It’s not all glorious Swans and pirouettes.
There she is. Up top. The Gull. She? He? Sorry, with no disrespect intended to whatever it is, I’m old school. Or just old. I don’t know its pronoun, and we’re going with She.
I wasn’t paying attention. Not downward anyway. And typically, the wildlife clears out-of-the-way when Darth Vader approaches. A 6’1″ human, black hoodie, black jacket, black sweat pants, black gloves, black toque (pronounced tuuuk), and a matching black backpack. Darth, who recently had foot surgery, happens to be dragging his right leg, with his Sorel boot scraping the asphalt behind him. So all winged creatures give Darth wide berth.
Continue reading “Walking. With One (Good) Wing Creatures.”
Notes: Post title Inspired by Albert Einstein’s quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle.
…No religion except whatever Mary Oliver had going on.
Notes: