A Convening of Feathers

Long winters may shunt the creative, but a scene rich in symbol caught my eye last week.

 

 

A Convening of Feathers

 

Three pheasants on snow and litter under brush.

A crow squawks from their side a jump or two away

with sisters above on lamp and bare branch.

 

Disturbed birds of china retreat by quick feet

then with a call of oriental chime in low flight west.

Black chatter hovers to chase in curious report.

 

Was there any agreement on the nature of late winter?

Or can birds of cross feather ever see the others' light?

I convene with my kind and hope to touch heart.

© 2015 Ardi Keim

Birdsong and Window Lace

I like to write a preamble to my creative work. Usually done after writing the work itself and placed up front as an intro, this time -- a post-script instead.  Just to say here: I love the creative freedom of vacation, and this good life.

Window cover in off-white lace

with no hint of breeze to show it open 

to that possibility, this June day--still a.m. here. 

But traffic on Avenue H says so: It's open. It's morning. 

Birdsong only in my recall of yesterday a.m.  

And just a Robin and Sparrows collude. 

But better than today in that way. 

Where are they--that quartet? 

At home she has a Mourning Dove 

resting in joy and delight at her words of love 

in vines green, and color. The light. But here, not even 

a Crow.  Oh. Wait!  As if my thought brought it to my morning. 

A cooing.  Gently.  Lonely and afar.  With traffic  

and chatter of House Sparrows.  Perfectly 

rendered from a different yesterday. 

And mine. Not Crow, but 

a Mourning Dove. 

And a gentle wave of lace.

Postscript

Rest of vacation. Or from it. Never perfect, but full and rich. I rest and write to Marily’s breathing after reading and relaxing to sleep again. Another good day ahead. Hopefully not too much play. R-n-R is what we make it.

Recalling thoughts of days ago in stress and schedule, and post on Facebook, the dove... Now birdsong. Each note or orchestration is really just for me -- each of us.  I hear it differently than you or they. Direction. Deflection. Distance and ambient happening.  All sound and events, all images in light--adjusted by aspect and attributes of heart.

It’s all a song unique to each soul. And healing and stretching and growing. Can even delete the past and paint a new beginning. Color and light. The song and dance of this moment.  

She breathes. The traffic. Birdsong and window lace.

© 2013 Ardi Keim 6/10/13

Crow Glimpses

.
Thought. Images. Glimpses.
Ebony in green.
What is worth the effort?
And always
a heart song lingers
this gray morning.
Crow calls to nowhere I know,
Yet hope is always
this love.
.

Winter Score

As I sat in the parking lot of St. Vincent Hospital I was inspired by a crow. Pondering its lonely call, I wrote:

Crow knows the score in barren oak
Repeats the toll of winter
Sunshine
White cloud
Autumn leaves have fallen
Crow knows the score of winter winds
Snowflakes not yet drifting