Just a brief exchange

I spent a good deal of time today watching the outside world change, most notably the birds dealing with the weather which has shifted in the past twenty-four hours from a balmy 56° to the current (with windchill) 8°; the freezing rain started this morning and that’s what has created the bird circus. To the west and north of us is snow, we’re in an ugly no man’s land with just frozen grass and granules of ice. The trees have a thin coating of ice as well. This has caused the starlings to gather around all the bird feeders here and at my neighbor’s house.

Passing by the front door at one point today I glanced out to see if snow was falling and three starlings stumbled out from behind a hedge at the corner of the house like the last bar patrons heading home. They sort of jostled one another, and then looked about, “Now, where did I park?” A Dark-eyed junco eating nearby made wide birth as they wandered about.

Yesterday when we were out for our walk before it started raining, we passed one of the many ponds in the neighborhood and there were geese walking on the frozen surface, the day was warm, but we have had a number of very cold days prior, so all the little water bodies have some ice. This particular pond is one of the larger in town. In the summer this is the gosling zone, and if you walk down this street be prepared to cross because the parents are protective and aggressive (better to find a new route for those weeks). But yesterday, it was Geese on Ice! They knew   they looked great.

My friend gave me some insight into some writing routines she’s using, starting the day writing with your weak hand, for me my left, just to jumpstart your brain, (Jerry said, “You can do that!?”) and the famous dipping into a book and writing a poem from whatever line landed on. The line I used on January 30th was from the novel Warlight by Michael Ondaajte:

            “like spokes fingering north from the Thames.”

            The river’s hand touching every rock, every root
            and fallen branch, caressing the quick fish
            and swaddling the geese landing onto the soft
            sheen of its skin. The river its life of change
            never moving the same way, just a brief
            exchange like the quick chat with the young
            woman on the street that day before our fingers
            brushed as I passed her a few bills.