Writing and Birds
My mentor asked, "So, are you writing?"
I mumbled a response, made some excuses, and finally said, "Well, no. Not really."
I told him of the poems that came, complete and beautiful, as I was drifting off to sleep, forever lost to that wafting twilight period right before dreams. Then dreams, with all their magical forcefulness, overwrite my words with their presence.
I wistfully thought of writing a book of poetry all about dreams. I have so many already. And, it's strange, because my environment is arranged (sometimes divinely) to maximize my every waking minute. My life could not be more perfect; it has the right balance of pain and pleasure, dark and light, calmness and excitement. Feels funny to say that out loud. I guess I've always thought it haughty to say, "I'm satisfied. I have all I ever wanted."
***
The evenings are growing warmer. This evening, it's still warm enough that the rain this afternoon hasn't made things overly damp. The birds are enjoying a late supper from the sounds of it. I've seen the female cardinal twice, both times without her love, and she looks fat and happy. The bluebirds, too, look well fed. I joked that I would have to get a job just to pay for their keep. The kids have been helping me keep the feeders filled every other day.
Sage asked me tonight why I took up birding, if that's not glorifying too terribly the casual watching I do from the front porch. I told him that birds were interesting as well as beautiful. I've always loved people watching, and people aren't that much different from birds. They might seem alike from a distance, but through the lens of my binoculars, the differences range from subtle to dramatic. I guess people are like that, too. Like right now...three gold finches sit on the telephone wire, separated from a fat robin ten or fifteen yards away. Birds of a feather, alright, but they still share that same wire. Hrm.
Two of the children have invaded my sanctuary. Time for people watching.
I mumbled a response, made some excuses, and finally said, "Well, no. Not really."
I told him of the poems that came, complete and beautiful, as I was drifting off to sleep, forever lost to that wafting twilight period right before dreams. Then dreams, with all their magical forcefulness, overwrite my words with their presence.
I wistfully thought of writing a book of poetry all about dreams. I have so many already. And, it's strange, because my environment is arranged (sometimes divinely) to maximize my every waking minute. My life could not be more perfect; it has the right balance of pain and pleasure, dark and light, calmness and excitement. Feels funny to say that out loud. I guess I've always thought it haughty to say, "I'm satisfied. I have all I ever wanted."
***
The evenings are growing warmer. This evening, it's still warm enough that the rain this afternoon hasn't made things overly damp. The birds are enjoying a late supper from the sounds of it. I've seen the female cardinal twice, both times without her love, and she looks fat and happy. The bluebirds, too, look well fed. I joked that I would have to get a job just to pay for their keep. The kids have been helping me keep the feeders filled every other day.
Sage asked me tonight why I took up birding, if that's not glorifying too terribly the casual watching I do from the front porch. I told him that birds were interesting as well as beautiful. I've always loved people watching, and people aren't that much different from birds. They might seem alike from a distance, but through the lens of my binoculars, the differences range from subtle to dramatic. I guess people are like that, too. Like right now...three gold finches sit on the telephone wire, separated from a fat robin ten or fifteen yards away. Birds of a feather, alright, but they still share that same wire. Hrm.
Two of the children have invaded my sanctuary. Time for people watching.
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