Tag Archives: images of birds

All in Everything

Click on photos to enlarge.

All in Everything

My heart as empty as a room the party’s left behind,
I tell myself I am at peace and that I do not mind;
but it may be pertinent, if I am being truthful,
to admit as I say these words, that I am feeling ruthful.

Day-by-day, I improvise, insisting I am free.
‘I” can pursue anything not limited by “we.”
Driving past the railroad tracks, an engine rushing by
reminds me of those trips when I was young and wild and high.

Cheyenne out to Oregon, Sydney to Melbourne town.
Always a new place and new adventure going down.
That local train in Java, stopping a thousand times
at every local village–the hawkers and the mimes 

flooding all the aisles and all the window frames
insistently proficient in their selling games.
All the places where I went teeming with new faces,
constantly observing as life put me through its paces.

Before old age annexed me, I had a brilliant life
as student and explorer, as writer, artist, wife.
Those inevitable things, grave and prompting sorrow
were always covered over by the prospect of tomorrow.

But now that tomorrow is not such a certain thing,
I simply fall in line with whatever life may bring.
Knowing that I can’t flee fate, still I have seized my power
by finding a whole universe in bee and bird and flower.

 

j

 

 

Prompt words today are empty room, pertinent, improvising, annex, railroad tracks and grave.

Bird Bath

Bird Bath

You bask in the sun as you crane to inspect
that bird in the water, demanding respect.
How odd that he has not one thing to say
and as you caw your challenge, doesn’t fly away.
When you bob your head at him, he bobs at you.
He’s an image of everything you choose to do.
Then, Mr. Raven, as you fly away,
So too does the other decide not to stay.
Just as you stage your sudden defection,
flying away with you is your reflection.

 

Prompt words today are bask, odd, raven, respect and image.

The Language of Birds

Version 2

The Language of Birds

The bird swoops
from the neighbor’s roof,
low over the pool
like a crop-dusting plane over prairie wheat.
I duck,
and when I again look up,
it has already sailed over my bedroom dome,
up to the hills that march above our fraccionamiento,
still green from the rainy season,
holding yellow flowers in bunches
like a hopeful suitor.

It is movement only
and a flash of brown,
not white like the albino owl
that swooped in a similar downward curve
over the pool and up again
that night our old friend died
alone in a hotel room in London.

This is the language of birds.
My two-woodpecker alarm clock,
every morning stirring me
from my solitary bed
to engage with the day.
The whir of hummingbirds
outside the window
in front of my desk cave,
sipping flowers,
drawing my attention away
from the worrisome puzzle of the next word.

White egrets,
standing at attention on one leg,
balancing on the dense hyacinths
that blanket the lake,
one eye intent on shadows
beneath water no human eye sees.
That sudden flash,
a filled beak
and that puzzle of digestion­­­­––
how to get a horizontal fish down a vertical gullet.

All the music of my life
sometimes distills down to the chorus
of thrush and cardinal,
wren and grackle,
the caesura
of the egret.
By some synchronicity,
conducted into a natural choir
that is beautiful in its spontaneity.
What orchestra has that fine precision
and that moving harmony?
Every art a mere imitation
of what the world provides us every day
that we present ourselves to experience it.

What Was So Funny?

Our birding trip through the lagoons near La Manzanilla yielded more laughs than birds. For Rachel and Gloria, who had never made the trip before, the hour and a half long trip down the mangrove swamps yielded more surprises than I had counted on. Click on the below photos to read the story as well as the photos:

Birds Of A Feather: Cee’s Black and White Challenge

Please click on first photo to enlarge all. Better when viewed full size.

 

For Cee’s Black and White Challenge: Birds

A Sandy Congregation

I love what congregates around the sea.—not the open sea. Rather, where it meets the land. (Photos will enlarge when you click on them.)

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love sand and the things it collects: seashells, jellyfish, sand dollars, starfish, puff fish, sand pipers, sea turtles and even the people who collect at the beach.  It is like they have retreated as far as possible–the next step is either a boat or drowning!  They tend to be individuals, slightly odd–kind of like the people from the western world who congregate in third world locales like Africa.  Perhaps they are this age’s pioneers or trappers.

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Oh yes.  I do love the oceanside, the beach.  Salt. Sand.  I love what collects above the beach as well: frigate birds and pelicans, ibises, sun, moon, clouds.  Above are some of the thousands of images of the beach I’ve collected over the past ten years or so.

I would have to say that my muse is the sea–but not the open sea. Rather, where it meets the land.

 

I admit, this is a reblog of photos from three years ago. The prompt word today was congregate.