“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


the second day of summer arrives with rain

yesterday was a bird in the hand.

a sparrow.  flying full speed with the joy of summer, hard into the glass of the front door, falling onto the moss, but breathing, and with the cat at my heels, i picked it up, closed the door and the open windows, leaving the cat inside.  i thought of graciel, of my mother, of kelly, and i sat with it on the back porch, just a small thing clutching for life in the palm of my hand, its mouth open, as if trying to find its lost song. inside the house, the tv was on, a movie about africa and other deaths; i could hear the blurred voices over my shoulder, beyond the window.  the sparrow lay in my hand, staring at me (was i god or monster, i wondered), breathing hard, one leg jerking hard. i began to sing my own song, maybe it would be good enough, i thought, and i said those things you say when pain or death hovers nearby - hush, it will be all right, it will be all right - and watched its leg calm down, its breathing slow.  watched its eye on me, huge and frightened.  watched a breeze blow leaves from the trees.  thinking to make a nest from those leaves and grass, i laid the sparrow on my mother's picnic table, just for a moment, i thought, but as i turned, it flew.  away into that breeze, and gone.

another summer begins.

this year, the grass grows quickly.  mowed just a few days ago, it is already head high to the cardinals.  i am like the grass, soaking in words like sunshine and rain.  i've been swallowing books whole, devouring them.  it's been a feeding frenzy.  from romance and scotland to patti smith to tuscany once again.  movies on the tv, africa and iowa and more africa,  deaths and dreams.

i am traveling someone else's words, packing light for the journey. 
it is summer, after all.



  1. That is such a summer story. The breezes balanced with the fragile breath of birds, and books. All of it happens every summer day.

    1. i should have included you in the list of people i thought about. you get it.

      muchas gracias.

  2. oh yes, me, too, me, too... i can't stop reading and i need to stop reading so I can get things done. but you're right, it IS summer, and i will never get the conditioning left over from school days out of my system: summer is for reading.

    and the bird... i'm so glad it flew away, so glad it was okay. just last night Brett killed a mourning dove, it made me sad, as always, always, i wish them to get up, to fly, wish i had the magic to make that happen.

    and lastly, this image speaks to my heart. i love it. xoxo


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