Notes:
Notes:
An owl’s feathers are silent in flight because individual barbs zipper shut so no air can rush through like the sound of desert wind. Each time I find a feather, I brush its webbing like velvet against my cheek. Sometimes, I close my eyes and fan the air by my ear. I hear nothing, only feel a slight breeze.
~ Terry Tempest Williams, Erosion: Essays of Undoing (October 8, 2019)
Photo: Burrowing Owl by Kevin Juberg (via Voice of Nature)
Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word.
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.
But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I’m traveling
a terrific distance.
Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.
Gif Source: (via Your Eyes Blaze Out).
1.) Decide you must.
2.) Develop deep respect
for feather, bone, claw.
3.) Place your trembling thumb
where the heart will be:
for one hundred hours watch
so you will know
where to put the first feather.
4.) Stay awake forever.
When the bird takes shape
gently pry open its beak
and whisper into it: mouse.
5.) Let it go.
~ Kathleen Lynch, “How to Build an Owl” from How to Build an Owl and other poems
Notes: Poem, thank you Hammock Papers. Photo: “White-faced Owl“ by | Patrick Monatsberger
Not the bald image, but always –
undulant, elusive, beyond reach
of any dull staring eye
– lodged
among the words, beneath
the skin of images: nerves,
muscles, rivers of urgent blood,
a mind
secret, disciplined, generous and
unfathomable.
– Denise Levertov, excerpt from Williams: An Essay from Selected Poems
Notes:
Sound of wings. Let’s just say: Wow!
Notes:
Cold stove of 4:00 a.m., black iron, the lids in place on everyone but me, and down the chimney, through the damper’s pinch, the distant hoo-hoo-hooing of an owl. And soon, among the sticks of kindling in the box of words, the mouselike scritching of my pen.
~ Ted Kooser, February. The Wheeling Year: A Poet’s Field Book
Photo Credit: The Wild Free Spirit
From Stephen:
Catching up on your posts and came across your July 7 Monday Mantra. Thought you might like to see the original video of the reggae-biased Morepork … so named for their call. If you live close to bush in New Zealand, you turn on the porch light and these little guys will come calling to feed on the moths.”
This little Morepork (or Ruru in Maori) arrived at New Zealand Bird Rescue Charitable Trust’s Green Bay Hospital in Auckland when it was about a week old. Now it is flying and has lost most of its baby feathers. New Zealand Bird Rescue supports the community by assisting many thousands of sick, orphaned, injured and lost birds every year. Birds that come into care here are rehabilitated until they are ready for release back into the wild. We accept and care for all New Zealand birds; no bird is ever turned away. Many have been victims of cat attacks, road accidents, pollution, fishing line entanglements, and human ignorance or cruelty.
Thank you Stephen.
Source: Huffington Post (Baby owl was 1 week old when he was admitted to the New Zealand Bird Rescue Hospital.)
Live & Learn 