Last night a friend emailed me on how strangely silent the birds were in her home in the East Bay. She realized how much she is used to their evening chatter. This morning there was an earthquake at 4:45. It makes one wonder what the birds felt. Could we be as sensitive or is it just coincidence?
Again, we are warned to prepare for "the big one."
I drove to Half Moon Bay yesterday and listened to Michael Krasny along the way. An organization has set up quite a network to choose the seven wonders of the world. It sounds innocent enough. A great number of people weighed in on the choice, and the idea was to bring people around the world together with a commonality of symbols. When I listened to all the discussion and complaining on how it was done, I saw why we have wars. My goodness. The point was to educate, excite, inspire, connect. It seems so simple, and yet, .....
Perhaps my morning poem addresses this.
Bold the way words tumble together and form,
following the lead
of the tongue
for the open vowel,
for the smack of the whip
clothes pinned loosely on a line
in blooming scent.
Words wallow in sand,
toss mud, catch it, and throw it back again.
They caress, soothe, smooth,
They are used like sandpaper, paint.
Is it possible to redecorate the way that we think?
Peel words, like sugar dots, from paper,
and touch the sweet cells of tongue,
melt like snow
on warm, summer lakes,
alert to the loon and the owl.