The bird is thankful
For each new day
To fly away.
Again .
To new hights.

Shell✨🐚

Birds of a feather flock together in the sultry atmosphere, whirring in and out of crepuscular clouds as if it were nothing special. feathers more like needles blacked under the godless face of the wind. The cliff's voice clings to their sun-smeared backs, reminds them of his own position on an empty, red planet and they sing back that gravity lament. The sky goes on about the lovely morning air and sunlight marches when all birds want is a place to lie down from that brittle flight, to rest their hollow bones filled with a lost longing.

new lives in a shell
soul developing body
opal colors strike
little birds are unfolding
loving mom hugs them warmly

Pick a bird you’d like to be
Heron, eagle, hummingbird
Daring, large, fast, gaudy,

Or camouflaged,
a small brown forager
spiraling a tree.

Tending to bark and larvae.

Ruth Solnit, February 2021

canary whisper
for pink pebbles
on hills of June

When birds fly high
they reach the sky.
They sing their song
They make their call
To baby birds
letting know
they’re on their way
With food to  show
collect through  day
Making chirping sounds
to say
Mama bird is on her way
Letting know that food will fall.
After babies hungry call!!!

Shell ✨🐚

This afternoon, I time a Loon
the length that she stays under.
Upon the shore, I keep her score,
amazed and full of wonder.
Beneath a wake, one minute eight.
What is it that she plunders?
***********
No hook needs she to fish so free.
No line nor rod impedes her.
What sense applies to depths she dives?
Which rhythm moves her meter?
As if in air she swims so fair
To seek that which may feed her.
***********
On this Fall day, I wish to stay
and watch her dive and surface.
“Get back to shore!” My mind implores
as work beckons its service.
And yet I stay in silence, bade
the Loon to bear me witness.
************
Share I with Loon this afternoon
to gladly dive and swim?
In friendship be the Loon with me?
With her would I find kin?
No.
As land locked Loon, I must resume
to fish the drink I’m in.