Tag: Ukraine

Walking. And, for a moment, all is right with the world…

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6:54 am. Weather app says 33° F. There’s no damn way it’s 33°. I shiver.

And, I walk.

1,347 consecutive (almost) days at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.

Our Swan family sleeps peacefully out in open water, a rare sight. The youngster is now fully grown, making it difficult to sort out who’s who.

I stand watching them, the pulse slows, this calm in the shadow of bombs dropping in Kyiv, in Gaza and in Yemen. And the warming planet offering a respite for the swans who don’t need to migrate south to find unfrozen bodies of water.

Non sequitur. Up and in flashes a segment of a CBS Sunday Morning interview with Jelly Roll, not the donut kind, but the rapper and singer. It’s a worthy segment, I urge you all to watch.

Jelly says “I have a very dark hallway between my ears.”

I look out at the swans.

Peace. And War.

War & Peace.

Notes:

  • Photo above taken at 6:54 am this morning. For more pictures from this morning’s walk, and yet another incredible light show here, here, and here
  • Related posts tied to the Swan family here.

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

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I do not live happily or comfortably
with the cleverness of our times.
The talk is all about computers,
the news is all about bombs and blood.
This morning, in the fresh field,
I came upon a hidden nest.
It held four warm, speckled eggs.
I touched them.
Then went away softly,
having felt something more wonderful
Than all the electricity of New York City.

—  Mary Oliver, “With Thanks to the Field Sparrow, Whose Voice is So Delicate and Humble” in “Evidence: Poems”

Notes:

  • We’ll ignore the consequences of touching/picking up bird eggs from a nest… 🙂
  • Poem: Thank you Make Believe Boutique
  • Photo: Eva Bronzini via Pexels

Walking. A morning walk on a dreary day…

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Here we are. Last day of 2022. I crawl out of bed, both knees are throbbing, why?   Doris Lessing: “But you just do not believe that you’re going to be old. People don’t realize how quickly they’re going to be old, either. Time goes very fast.” Truth Doris, truth.

970 consecutive (almost) days on this daybreak walk to Cove Island Park. Like in a row. And it’s a dreary morning. Dreariness lines up with the morning news. Bombing strikes on civilian infrastructure in Ukraine. More civilians dead. More civilians without power. It’s winter. It’s cold.

I walk.

I’m having to work to lift the camera off the shoulder. Blah…spoiled after a run of “money” sunrises this week.

I walk to the tip of the point, and stop to look out over the water. I stare at the bench, think about sitting down, and don’t. Body says yes, Mind refuses to walk over and sit. Will not do it.

A 2-man kayak comes round the corner, the most excitement I’ve seen this morning. I reach for the camera.

“Good morning” the man in the rear shouts. I let go of the camera. I reply in kind. Continue reading “Walking. A morning walk on a dreary day…” →

Walking. With My Oystercatcher.

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She was alone. Some form of birdsong, but at a high (very) pitch.  It’s the long beak that caught my attention. What is it? No clue.

It’s tough to get close in the mucky, low tide. Tough to focus in pre-twilight. I take the half-a**ed shot from way back, wary that if I get another 5 yards closer, she’s gone.

I approach.

Today, 757 consecutive (almost) days on my morning walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row. And I’m clopping in angle deep mud, hoping that I don’t sink to my knees. Don’t you dare bolt on me.

S: “So when did you become a Birder?” That was Wednesday, several days ago —  and it’s like cupping your hands to your mouth and yelling: So when did you become a Birder?…Birder…Birder…Birder….Birder…on repeat, the echoing Upstairs.

What she didn’t say, but it was back there: “So how long is this NEW obsession going to last.”  After 38 odd years, you sort of have each other figured out. 10 years ago, I would counterpunched: “Be nice if you found any sort of obsession to lock onto.” Instead, I smile, all grown up now. It’s really a strange feeling, this controlling yourself thing.  Destabilizing, really, this letting things go. Come on. Not really letting go. Just setting it in short term parking, and waiting, when the pressure is unbearable, and then release. And carnage. Continue reading “Walking. With My Oystercatcher.” →

You ask me am I crazy for playing the cello in a war zone

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One night, I dreamed that I was meeting my friend, a poet named Mariana, in Sarajevo, the city of love. I woke up confused. Sarajevo, a symbol of love? Wasn’t Sarajevo the site of one of the bloodiest civil wars of the late twentieth century? Then I remembered. Vedran Smailović. The cellist of Sarajevo…

You ask me am I crazy for playing the cello in a war zone, he says. Why don’t you ask THEM if they’re crazy for shelling Sarajevo?

His gesture reverberates throughout the city, over the airwaves. Soon, it’ll find expression in a novel, a film. But before that, during the darkest days of the siege, Smailović will inspire other musicians to take to the streets with their own instruments. They don’t play martial music, to rouse the troops against the snipers, or pop tunes, to lift the people’s spirits. They play the Albinoni. The destroyers attack with guns and bombs, and the musicians respond with the most bittersweet music they know.

We’re not combatants, call the violinists; we’re not victims, either, add the violas. We’re just humans, sing the cellos, just humans: flawed and beautiful and aching for love.

— Susan Cain, “Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole” (Crown, April 5, 2022)

Image: Manny Becerra via Unsplash