The Fireplace What is the passage of time but another turn, another rotation of the roasting spit? When the seasons cycle what is it you learn, after yearning again at the end that something beyond the burn - dizzy and slow - would transcend and hold, just for a moment or so, this ticking, sickening circle. Still, what do we know? Time begins and ends and begins again. So the timeless only touches in flares of grace - lightly, but not to be taken so. Until the Timeless raises us to his face more than likely, we will turn on and on in this roasting fireplace.Continue reading
What Gorgeous Thing by Mary Oliver I do not know what gorgeous thing the bluebird keeps saying, his voice easing out of his throat, beak, body into the pink air of the early morning. I like it whatever it is. Sometimes it seems the only thing in the world that is without dark thoughts. Sometimes it seems the only thing in the world that is without questions that can’t and probably never will be answered, the only thing that is entirely content with the pink, then clear white morning and, gratefully, says so.
Birds – especially bluebirds – enchant me. But they have not always done so.
As a young girl, I felt a vague appreciation for the morning songs of winged creatures and their flashes of color across the sky, but I never truly allowed myself to marvel at birds. I never stopped to listen to their tunes. I never longed to analyze and admire their complex coats and colors.Continue reading