Birds and Words

Today I got out early enough for a bit of a breeze and so many birds, The birds are a gift to my own ever-tenuous ability to hear, as well as a sort of much needed cosmic validation that stretches between us. I’m still here and you’re still here, and some knowing of that life spark passes between us.

When I walk, the words flow, quite unlike the way they sit, box-like, arms crossed and eyes shut tight to truth, when I’m still. I often invite them quite graciously to join me at the table, but they know my tricks. And more, they know the cage has to rattle for truth to escape.

So I use my legs for the rattling. They say exercise saves lives. I say that much of that rebirth springs from the ground and heads straight to the page.

Birds in Tree Crop

Leaving Home on a Morning Walk

Poem and Photo by Pamela Goode

When I walk now,
I gasp a little.

Weak-kneed and queasy,
trusting myself only on this simple
path —
straight and safe and
known

(we love the known),

but walking,
nonetheless.

Sun and breeze a shield of sorts,
holding me together or
(at least)
familiar parts of me
within arm’s
reach.

Comfort enough
for now.

 

c. Pamela Goode 2012