Open it to other things

This is a picture taken in Brugge, Belgium when my sisters were visiting (2017, Jerry and I were still living in Mons at the time), we'd driven up for the day, it was cool when we got there but by lunch, we were able to sit outside and enjoy a meal. It was between tourist seasons, mid-Fall.

It's such a calm picture. October hadn’t been very cold, the leaves were still turning, the canals were quiet. These houses that line the canal interest me. In Amiens, France the houses are on a canal fed by the River Somme. Of course, Amsterdam; of course, Venice; then, Ghent and a host of smaller towns and villages. These all are attractive to me. Not as much as houses hidden behind foliage, or passageways that dodge between buildings and streets or secret gardens. Perhaps I can blame Frances Hodgson Burnett.

Today my yard and feeders have been overrun with cowbirds and grackles. They came enmasse, planning ahead for tomorrow’s snow. Bullying the cardinals and intimidating the sparrows, pushing the doves around; real hoodlum behavior. I wonder about the birds in Ukraine. The animals that are watching the fighting. Listening. Trying to get away. Much like all the millions of people.

A friend of mine in Europe says that her family is trying to get a co-worker’s wife and child out of Ukraine. In a day or two I’ll ask again how that is going, let her take a breath. Her family is Romanian, she grew up under communism. Her opinion of Putin is unprintable. I wish I could give her a hug, I wish I could get a hug from her, she’s a great hugger.

Well, this is a meandering meander, here’s a poem I found today from a prompt that I did while at the library on SHAPE. I feel I want to pick pieces of it out, open it to other things:

Like the first time you connect not only the dots
but understand what the dots represent:
the star becomes more than star
the dog becomes wolf, the horse that long day
with your father, before he shut the door
and awareness of that door, perhaps
the grain of that door, the weight as it slammed
like a summer storm relentless and horrible.
The horse that survived the wasps, and the wire
and still loved you.