I can't sleep…
They know, I thought,
like the birds of Iraq before shock and awe
on the first day of spring.
It was said that the sparrows and songbirds stopped singing,
their silence heralding the dropping of bombs.
~ Patti Smith, Her Name Was Sandy. M Train
Image: imandrah-land. Story: Shooting in San Bernardino Kills at least 14
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
Find Kim Beyer Johnson on WordPress here: 10,000 hours of play.
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:
so winter beginsÂ
in the heart of a sparrowÂ
shouting at the sky
Credits: Photograph: Gighy.com. Poem: Your Eyes Blaze Out
A Glimpse of the Eternal
Just now,
a sparrow lighted
on a pine bough
right outside
my bedroom window
and a puff
of yellow pollen
flew away.
~ Ted Kooser, Delights & Shadows
Notes: