It’s cold today. And the light is watery — rain-drenched. The birds huddle by the feeder, their wings flicking water. And I celebrate central heat, sweaters (especially cashmere!) and a roof that doesn’t leak…
Mostly? I celebrate a life where I can write about rain dispassionately — where its lack or plentitude either one is not a life-breaker. And where my beginner’s heart can just feel watered…:)
Rain fugue~
I am grateful for the wings of birds.
For the cold light that seems to fall
away from the climb of geese,
who leave us to fly where light
nests in green grass, and does not catch
in seed heads bent beneath this morning’s
rime of dew.
I celebrate the greedy wren.
Who labours at a seed & suet bell
silenced by the weight of brown wings
and the jagged music of crows circling.
In the grey sky their silhouettes open
into darkness.
I am grateful for the way time slows,
its rhythmic minute hand tracing
a fluid arc, as if now was the centre point
in a compass, and migratory birds
drew a circle around this moment.
As if you and I were inside, safe.
As if nothing will ever change.