2 posts
What am I hoping to see as I look at him? That he does not sow or reap or store away in barns and yet his breakfast awaits? But I’m less moved by his food than by his existence. Birds: what a crazy invention of an animal, like a child’s reckless concoction—look ma, it flies!
First flush of warmth since that cold stretch, a month running it was, bitter, too cold to dissipate the ice encasing cars and sidewalks. We worked so hard to clear a path with pickaxes, not shovels. One month later, no transition time, no chance to wear cardigans, we go straight to short sleeve tees as summer descends, briefly parachuting in.