april 11, 2012 (it’s because i ran out of imagination)

• the april sun has melted the snows. mostly.
• the sparrows run round with huge fluffy visages of feathers and bits of string if they can get any.

From http://www.itsnature.org/

• the starlings wreak havoc on lawns, and mayhem in the branches of the trees they consider their home now.
• the crows have finished building the nests, and now indulge in acceptable synchronous trick flying wing to wing.
• the ravens sing songs of endearment over any reachable forest. their possible  wives probably listen.
• the crocodiles of my imagination immerse themselves in huge fantasy rivers. only the ever-watchful eyes are left out.
• the he-birches get ready to court the she-birches with pollen.
• the hazels have already done that.
• the herring gulls, and the common gulls, and the gulls that are just one sort of gull or another, laugh, deride and lament the morning sun and the evening dusk.
• the students write tests.
• i contemplate photography but don’t seem to be able to get up relevantly early.
• the sky is still on the bluer side.

bunting

she was there, and sang before eating

the swans

have left. this was on the news.

i woke up grey today, like the earth and the sky, and the fallen leaves in the mist.

and i thought, those swan-less days before the first snow touches down will be as grey as i will think them.

i have to put up the bird feeder soon.

i have to think colour.

before the snow covers the world, and all is
monochrome.

suburbian

one of the nice things about living in a suburb, are the stars.

tonight there were so many stars in the dark-dark-blue of the sky.

like so many worlds, open. believe, know, and enter.

and the geese flew over the city in skeins.

the early bird that scratches the window

the early bird that scratches the window at 4.53 in the morning, is grey. even when it is green and yellow and black in the sunlight. that is because it is too dark to see him yet.

but my morning is broken by this little entity, my sleep interrupted, my journey into unconsciousness fallen short. birds have hit my running dreams like little feathered bullets, leaving holes in the most interesting places.

this morning (not the lark/owl dichotomy, but the morning crow)

there is that song about morning having broken … i always think – into the bedroom. with the evilest of intentions, totally bent on wreaking havoc and mayhem (i wonder why those two are mentioned together, but i will not, as Dickens says, destroy the idiom) – or on conquest.

and then, yawning like my jaw joints would crack, i look out of the window.

and there is his one

looking ruffled, dishevelled even, just the way i feel. probably hungry, too… but i will know that after i’ve had some coffee.

so, it is not the morning lark. it is the morning crow that survives the day.

spring

the one that brings the different green to all those woods i will not go.

why, oh why is every spring that depressing?

in addition, the hdd of my laptop died on me. now i am in the process of  changing computers, reinstalling, recalibrating, re…ng. instead of translating or having fun.

but the grass is crocodile green. and the blackbirds compete with starlings, and redstarts sing along robins, and chaffinches predict weather, and wagtails swagger everywhere. the city is wild with life.

and the birches broke into leaf before the alders. it will be dry summer in this city.