And the day came when the risk it took to remain tightly closed in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom. Anais Nin


Of Crows and Things

From this vantage point it is easy to watch three crows drink from the birdbath. They are huge and shiny. In between sips they chatter - back and forth - cawing loud and louder.

I want to join the conversation. Listen to them brag about the last worm or the cracker I set out this morning. I want to shout with them; tell them about the things I've found. The broken compass inside an old shoe at the thrift shop, a red plastic barrette I wore in 4th grade, love letters from my first crush, and five nickels as I prepared the soil for roses.

I imagine crow's don't make lists. In fact, I think they're only concern is the last find. There is no way I could live like that. I'm too connected to those little things that remind me of someone close, a great trip, an unpredicted event, or a walk that began innocently and ended with a pocket full of rocks.

Some people are collectors of things. Some, collectors of people. Everyone is talking about simplicity, clearing out the stuff, minimizing. This is supposed to clear your mind and release potential for new endeavors. I understand the logic in this and must admit, I do feel renewed when I clean out the closet or garage. Yet, my collection of precious finds gives me renewed energy. At any moment I can pick up a paper fortune from Chinese take out, a rock from the Sierra's, or a lucky penny found on my street. I can remember the moment and the reason I kept that treasure.

Still, those crows seem so free and unencumbered. I'd love to talk with them, just once, about the greatest thing they ever found. Now, wouldn't that be a moment? Perhaps they'd let me take a feather home.

As The Grass Grows....

we sit
sip dew from honeysuckle
stare into the distance
beyond the weeds
and fire-bright lilies
you stretch
I yawn
toes touch before
eyes meet