Bird language

Chattering birds in an overgrown bush

near a Victorian cottage…I stopped

to identify the birds and their song. (Wrens)

As soon as it was clear that I remained below, a threat,

the chatter changed into a back and forth warning.

Branch to branch, lower to upper. I moved along.

Across the street, an entirely different and joyous bird

was singing in the sundown. I paused.

Busy sidewalks

Sidewalks crowded and unruly

confusing, folks walking in patterns I can’t discern.

Not quite dark, but nearly a full moon lurking over the City. 

Could that be the cause?

Perhaps I am just out of step.

Perhaps.

Sunset

Sunset is glorious, yet ending.

Tonight, I hear my grandmother

singing “sunset and evening star,

and one clear call to me”. Oh,

to achieve life so simple,

just one clear call.

About parents

Morning with an old, old friend

talking about how today is a reflection

of our yesterdays.

“Somehow you must believe

your folks did the best they could in rough times,

or the good things would be meaningless”.

After the river

A smaller river for February?

I will miss the wonderful interaction of all the folks

who participated. So….

the intention required for going out each day,

experiencing a moment, perhaps taking a photo

is a challenge for the remainder of 2012.

Going to take it one day at a time!

Today’s was a work day. Successful, felt good.

Noticed that more people were smiling on the way home.

Synchronicity? More likely that I was more upbeat.

Small stone: January 31, 2012

The last day of January's River of Stones

It’s time to observe inwardly today.

Each January day has included a time for seeing

something different in my world.

Today, the search centers: how have I changed?

Small stone: January 30, 2012

Every morning meditation takes me

into that quiet forest where the breathing of the trees

is the essence and the quiet chirp of a bird

is awareness that my mind will move from silence

to action. How it moves will be today’s choice.

And then there crept a little noiseless noise among the leaves,
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
  – John Keats