The sun melts the frost and the wind blows downriver with the iron scent of snow. I zip-up my down vest.
Monday, March 16th, with public schools closed through April, the University emptied, people working in offices booting up laptops to work from home, and the announcement that all Oregon restaurants and bars are ordered closed yet to come later in the day. Circles tighten.
There’s no one else on the road. Christmas-morning-style silent empty streets, yet without the tingling expectation of warmth and fellowship to come with cinnamon and cider. There’s a flagger ahead on the parkway and I’m startled construction work is still progressing at the stadium. She flips her sign to “Slow” when she sees us, the only car for miles. I wave as we pass, yet a clench and fleeting guilt that I’ll be stopped and asked for my papers crossing the frontier.
Everything clenched. Dominoes tipping in slow motion grasped in triple time.
The long grass in the fields is wet. The dog and I walk out to the canal. There is no one else. As we tread the open space, I decide this is my estate and inheritance and that I am its Lady, surveying the opening green haze of the willows and cottonwood and translating the song of a red winged blackbird. Breathe here, a cold wind bright sun burning my cheeks, remember this.
Canada geese post sentries for their flock and these sentries watch us approach and escort the smaller birds further away in an orderly retreat. I keep Mercy tight-in on her lead until we pass, and then release her to dash to the water.
The heron. We withdraw to let her fish in peace and move down the canal, the dog working the bank where the nutria dig their dens. The song of the blackbird repeats a phrase from an ancient reed pipe. So it is, and was, and will ever be.
I read somewhere, probably Reddit, that a clever teacher uses glitter to teach her first-grade students to visualize otherwise invisible germs. At the beginning of the school day, a spoon of glitter is dished into the hand of one student. At the end of the day, the class looks to see where they can find glitter. It is everywhere.
Blindfolded with a Bird Box.
The sun is high enough now, the frost is melting. Time to go.
6 thoughts on “Bird Box & Glitter Bomb”
Thank you for this. Tingles. Spidey-senses on full love/alert. Beautiful share from your world, in tune with nature and humanity’s dark and light rhythms. Inspiring.
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Lovely as usual. Thank you Kim
Hope you are home and well my dear
The glitter demonstration is a good one, but what a nightmare to clean up.
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Like a virus…?
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I had a nice heron sighting overhead today. The glitter is dark and resonates. Fucked up weird times.