I am sitting on a chair,
eating an egg cheese sandwich
next to a table where
a blue jay is alighting
my seem absurd
The surprise is I’m not surprised
a natural way of recognition
maybe a sacred moment
an angel disguised as a bird
a simple intimate detail of grace.
Below on the walking path
mountain hikers indulge the outdoors, sunshine
somewhere, everywhere the virus rages.
In life is not easy to calculate our losses
Or emphasize our gains
There are disguises that betray us
Our vision is not always sharp to distinguish differences
Today like most days
I walk to the river
Others have similar ideas
I encounter a blue heron,
A lone bird resting on the reeds
And red flowers radiant in the sun.
Disturbed by nearness
The blue heron flies away
The child, surprised, cries
We are sheltered in.
Allowed to go out to take walks
Or get basic essentials for daily living.
I walk to the river for fresh air and scenery
The clouds form many disguises
The blue heron comes then flies away
Horses nonchalant in its movements
Tiny flowers adorn the lawn
My daily miracle.
Settled and living near the ocean
I entered a world of birds
Learning how they look and sound,
Knowing their habits and peculiarities
A new vocabulary of patience and attentive eyes,
A binocular and waking to a new way of looking
Slowly birds became like friends and companions
Swelling of delights trailing after the bird’s daily calls
Hastening the retreat of boredom hinting no return.
The waves embraces
the descending moon
a fish dangles in the line
Today, Saturday, I walked in the afternoon. It was cool 63 degrees. I brought my camera to take photos of the birds I see during my walk to the river. I know the blue heron and the red wing blackbird but I don’t know the other birds.
Books I am reading:
The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas merton
Mastering the Art of French Eating by Ann Mah
A Beautiful Question by Frank Wilczek
The birds flew south
Walking in the forest
I heard silence
With echoes of sadness
After you left
The books remained unread
Arranged on top of each other
In alphabets of absence
Some words are missing
In discordant conversations
The strings were adjusted
I was able to sleep
After a very long wait.
A month ago.
If birds can talk
Like on my other days
I perched that morning
On a flowering fennel along the river.
I saw you coming towards me, holding
In your left hand a walking stick,
A camera in your right hand
I waited for you to get close
Close enough to take my picture
Before I flew away.
Like on your many other days
You might not notice or remember
The little things, good things
You could do