A pair of crows flapped above my car as I was driving yesterday, the sunlight shining on their wings turning their black feathers to white. The apparent transformation, brought about by reflection rather than absorption, transfixed my thoughts.
Black reflecting back--
lifted wing of flying crow
made white by sunlight.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
April 6: Spring Cleaning
Our Christmas tree is lying on the ground amid a heap of dead leaves, waiting for me to dismantle it with a hacksaw. Behind it, the spring-swollen river rushes past. It would be so easy to give the old tree a nudge into the swirling, cleansing currents, let drift away out of sight around the bend...
I'm tempted to push
the brittle old Christmas tree
into the river.
I'm tempted to push
the brittle old Christmas tree
into the river.
Monday, April 4, 2011
April 4: Surprises
This rather dreary afternoon the precipitation has shifted from rain to snow to rain to snow again. As I work at my desk, I periodically check to see what it's doing now. In the time it took me to type those two sentences, what were distinct snowflakes have dissolved into a near-invisible drizzle. I never know what I'm going to see each time I look up.
Earlier, a small bit of motion caught my eye--the first phoebe of spring perched on a branch in the back yard, wagging its tail. A few minutes later, more motion. Although I was alone in the house, I exclaimed, "Whoa!" out loud and ran for the camera... as a flock of six or seven turkeys strutted through the yard. A big hen stopped not ten feet from the window, and I swear she looked right at me, unperturbed, brazen.
Later, as I was heading out to my car, I did another double-take. There, in a barely exposed portion of my flower bed, a small cluster of snowdrops blooms, beautiful little white flowers glowing in the mud. Where did they come from? We've lived here six years and I've never seen them before. I never planted them. What a gift!
Stopped me in my tracks:
snowdrops risen from cold mud
as wet snow still falls.
Earlier, a small bit of motion caught my eye--the first phoebe of spring perched on a branch in the back yard, wagging its tail. A few minutes later, more motion. Although I was alone in the house, I exclaimed, "Whoa!" out loud and ran for the camera... as a flock of six or seven turkeys strutted through the yard. A big hen stopped not ten feet from the window, and I swear she looked right at me, unperturbed, brazen.
Later, as I was heading out to my car, I did another double-take. There, in a barely exposed portion of my flower bed, a small cluster of snowdrops blooms, beautiful little white flowers glowing in the mud. Where did they come from? We've lived here six years and I've never seen them before. I never planted them. What a gift!
Stopped me in my tracks:
snowdrops risen from cold mud
as wet snow still falls.
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