In this quiet place of dreams,
steeped in fertile contemplation
of winter's past,
The Muse is alive, green budded
The crocus wakes from sleep,
and bids hello in butter, lavender, cream
Words flow, kindred souls unite
on a star-speckled river
Turtle warms herself on the stone, heartbeat of all creation
The armor melts into palpatable skin
Under the bones, we are one
and the sun prospects gold
from the veins of light
Under the bones is the real world
A luxuriant spring...
Lovely visuals, flow and contemplations of merging Spring's soul with a soul's appreciation for the whole package of life's rebirth on this earth, Linda.
On a bird note, I used to think birds didn't have souls. My daughter raised twenty chickens in our back yard. I wrote a piece called 'No Courtesy Among Chickens', defaming their behavior towards each other. But, last year, the same daughter rescued a baby finch after the building it was nested in was torn down. She was tiny, we fed her baby food with an infant's medicine syringe. She would fly around in Kayla's room, after she learned to fly, land on heads or shoulders, or, if someone was eating, fly to the plate and start squawking and taking her share, she loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She would 'talk' to us in her cheeping voice, we named her Cheep. We set her free, one day, from the cage we used to hang in the tree in the backyard, so she could see her world. I would sit under her, on the picnic table, finding her grasses and seeds to show her what wild food was, and keeping our mob of cats away. She came back, late that afternoon, and spent one more night with us. This time she was allowed to fly in the living area. She would land on my head or shoulder while I was at the computer, scold me for nothing, and, it seemed she gave us this last night as her farewell gift. The next day, amid our tears, she left, again. We thought we spotted her a few times, but never were sure. Birds do have souls, I know that now, and, just like humans, they are diverse and vary in their depths and use of them.
great work, but i am not looking forward to spring..i live in tornado alley; we don't have anywhere to hide when severe storms come. nooooooooooo, i am NOT looking forward to spring (or the summer for that matter; too hot here in texas!)!
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Love this!! Beautiful poetic write ... very moving!!
Best regards,
Robert
On a bird note, I used to think birds didn't have souls. My daughter raised twenty chickens in our back yard. I wrote a piece called 'No Courtesy Among Chickens', defaming their behavior towards each other. But, last year, the same daughter rescued a baby finch after the building it was nested in was torn down. She was tiny, we fed her baby food with an infant's medicine syringe. She would fly around in Kayla's room, after she learned to fly, land on heads or shoulders, or, if someone was eating, fly to the plate and start squawking and taking her share, she loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She would 'talk' to us in her cheeping voice, we named her Cheep. We set her free, one day, from the cage we used to hang in the tree in the backyard, so she could see her world. I would sit under her, on the picnic table, finding her grasses and seeds to show her what wild food was, and keeping our mob of cats away. She came back, late that afternoon, and spent one more night with us. This time she was allowed to fly in the living area. She would land on my head or shoulder while I was at the computer, scold me for nothing, and, it seemed she gave us this last night as her farewell gift. The next day, amid our tears, she left, again. We thought we spotted her a few times, but never were sure. Birds do have souls, I know that now, and, just like humans, they are diverse and vary in their depths and use of them.
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Love Tinka