Lynn White - 2
The Breathing DaysIn the days when I still breathed,
the days before living took my breath away, the days before I knew my soul was there. I thought about this time, this time of no light, the forever night time with no breath, no air to breathe. Just dust and darkness. And I pondered. Would there be slow decay or fast. Stillness or movement. Now I know. I know everything about the dust and darkness. But I can't tell you. Not now in these days of no breath, no air to speak. Only my soul can speak. Can you hear me? The Hoopoes Are BackThe hoopoes are back,
even though the walls and holes they liked to nest in were destroyed by human nest builders four years ago, when there was a housing boom and money to be made. The hoopoes are back, even though the new holes and rubble they liked to nest in were destroyed by human nest builders three years ago, even though, there was no market for nests and no money to be made. The hoopoes are back, even though the new holes and rubble they liked to nest in were washed away two years ago, as the walls which stopped the storm flow were destroyed by human nest builders, to prepare the ground for money to be made. The hoopoes are back, even though their nesting places are hidden, buried under growing mountains of rubble brought by the human nest builders a year ago as there is no demand for human nests and no money to be made, except from rubble. Hey, the hoopoes are back! I’ve seen them! The hoopoes are back! |
End of the SeasonThe season of wrinkles
and over ripeness has arrived too soon. Shriveled buds. Fruits bursting open, their seeds drying out, beginning to crinkle and wrinkle. Beginning to split and break. Beginning to moulder and dribble with damp. Their past spring a distant dream. Or not remembered at all. Faded away like the fresh shoots of hopeful green growth. Even the memories of the florid, blowzy summer’s blooms are fading. Fading fast and faster. Perhaps this season of dry dampness has been here a while and I haven’t noticed. It’s been approaching a long time. Slow at first imperceptible. Speeding up, then quickening. But still imperceptible almost unnoticeable as everything slows down quickly. So quickly now. I think that winter has arrived. The season is over, finished lost beyond returning. ♢ |
Dawn Chorus
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It starts with one.
One skylark singing. One Carson warning. Then the robins and blackbirds join in. The early birds, like Carson. Then the wrens and warblers as the daylight warms them. Listen. Can you hear them? The warning calls are warming up as well, strengthening their numbers as the bird song dies away. Listen. Listen. Can you hear them? Listen. Don’t sleep. Don’t wait to hear the silence. |
