I am pretty sure I was silent last month. Could check, but shall just continue running my fingers across the keyboard as if I were a pianist and could read music and could carry a tune and would. I cannot. I will not. I prefer weightlessness and perhaps a whisper, so subdued you could not tell were it tonal or atonal, song or sigh. Not a whistle, they cannot seem to keep from being heard.
The birds are singing. I think. The robins seem to be squabbling more than they are singing, both vocally and physically in and around my neighbor’s cherry tree. The mockingbirds, same story, but higher up the same tree and over to the power poles and across to and through my weeping birches, and weaving through the porches front and back.
The other day we had a warm day. Then it snowed. I think after the snow we had another sort of warm day. We had so much snow this late winter. And yet, we are not out of drought concern. I think of the west coast. I think of the heavily thirsty electronic implements slurping through power grids to feed their manipulated/manipulable/manipulating “brains” “intelligences”.
This is not going to lift you, this blog post. I can tell. It is dragging me along on a tightly held leash. It is my head, however, that is feeding these words to this page, no other “thought” maker. My head.
A junco is still here, visiting the back yard. It’s late to be seeing even just one! Simultaneously, the grackles are back. The starlings are abundant. The goldfinches are goldening. The house finches are reddening and not the least bit embarrassed. I heard a thrush. I watch the nuthatches, the downy woodpeckers, the red bellied woodpeckers, the house sparrows. I hear, afar, a pileated woodpecker. I saw a pair of red tail hawks down the block, high in a red oak, watching, convening, watching, shifting on their branches, watching, silently.
I watch the mourning doves be flushed at the drop of a pin. I hear them in the morning chortling. I watch a cardinal pair alternate at the feeder, then sit together on a branch of the dogwood. No one in the dogwood is invisible to me right now. I like to see them. But I pray it blooms. I pray this every year. It is old, it is pushing out of its bark, yet so far it delights me with its reblooming. May it continue.
I have taken few pictures. I took one a few days ago of a rogue daffodil (why is the botanical name for daffodil narcissus? Because there are also narcissuses –narcissi). As is the way of things right now, I can’t seem to upload the picture of the daffodil. Since then a few more have joined it. The crocuses are many in number this year as well, many many more than I have ever seen in my yard. These are good surprises. My aged, no longer supported laptop, which I use only for purposes of typing these blog posts because I like the key responsiveness, has denied me the former ease of photograph downloads.
I can find nothing right with the world today.
Sunday is the Easter of Christians other than Orthodox. Orthodox Easter is the following Sunday. Yesterday, Wednesday, was Passover. March 20th was Eid-al-Fitr, the close of the month-long Ramadan. Each includes feasting, after having fasted. Each includes prayers. Each includes honoring sacrifice made for creation by a creator, our Creator, whose act of creation I believe is an act of love.
Do we create with love? Do we create out of love? Do we love creation? Earth is a planet of such beauty, not made by our hands. But, our hands, whither beauty?.
Look around. Listen to the news. whither the beauty? What hath man wrought that we should weep for him? What hasn’t man wrought that doesn’t hurt?
This is April 2nd. 4-2, for where two are gathered. Maybe April 3rd will be better, a strand of three strings.
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A firth is primarily a type of ria, which is a drowned river valley created when rising sea levels flood the lower portion of a river system. During the glacial periods, the immense weight of the ice sheets depressed the land, and meltwater streams eroded deep river valleys. (from BiologyInsights.com)
Ria, funnel-shaped estuary that occurs at a river mouth and is formed by the submergence of the lower portion of the river valley. Generally occurring along a rugged coast perpendicular to a mountain chain, many rias were formed by the rise in sea level after the melting of the glaciers (from Encyclopedia Britannica)
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