Standing in a flower-bed below my window-feeder, I photographed chickadees this morning. Not one of them was in focus, but I love the feeling of these images, ephemeral, joyous little birds!
I still haven't run, but went to the meadow for an hour with Molly this morning. It amazes me that a small rectangle of earth which doesn't belong to me, is a source of such delight and wonder every day.
It's like a long marriage, this little tract of land, a voluntary confinement in this arena, through all the seasons of life, in the rain and the snow and the wind and the sun, with a promise in every bud, with storms and dark clouds, and also the blessing of a blue sky filled with bountiful white clouds.
It's the wildness of fierce creatures roaming in the night, the snorting powerful beauty of the muscled white-tailed deer, the delicate creative beauty of a mockingbird nest, the whinnying call of the screech-owls communing.
It is a field of desire everywhere, the green desire for growth, the force that sets the continuation of the species. A hawk patrols the air and sometimes there is death with blood and fur or feathers. There is thick brush all along the perimeter, some with thorns. There are little secret passages here and there, some into the dark forest, some short-cuts to the other side. There is a long view and a short view. Suns and moons, stars and shadows.
And a magical hummingbird herself.
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