Birds of Michigan

When bees land on the azalea blossoms now, petals fall to the ground. A day of earth work means tan shoulders, a sore back and the renewed connection growing from tending living things. Despite fatigue I grill dinner on days like this because I don't want to go back inside. Later, a campfire alone. Beer by the fire, the dog curled at my side, watching bats evaporate into stars. Moment to moment, I both carry you and set you free. The past doesn't seem tangible anymore and the future has turned into a mist, burning off with each new dawn.

Bird shapes in the trees. A Scarlet Tanager and his mate criss-cross each other's path up the oak, lacing up a dozen miracles. It's the first time I've ever seen one in person. When we arrived in Kenya, another family on the compound was moving back to the States. We arranged to purchase most of their household items in order to start our life there. The teenage son sold me his bird book, “Birds of Kenya and Northern Tanzania.” He had marked with dates and a yellow highlighter pen all the birds he had seen in person for the last 10 years. Every single bird was new to me – every song, every feather, every curious nest. Today I wondered about marking the Tanager in my own “Birds of Michigan” book. I still may, but it the thought came to me that this would be yet another way one might try to keep a moment which passes.

And some moments never pass because Love has something to say first.

Lately, watching ferns emerge – how they seem to stretch open like the uncurling of a wrist. Ending in worship of Heaven, their green arms lift and wave in whichever holy breath stirs their soul.

Light now shines outward from a place that used to only devour it. Mutual well of shared sleep, indeed! And also, Lovely, a mutuality of never having been separated even for one moment. No past, no future, no time – let's see what happens next together.