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APPROACHING NIGHT
Arising into nightthe departing suntangos away with its cloud,memories soon forgotten. Other dancers take the stage,now a romance, nowa war dance, feathers raisedin prayer to unseen gods. Night will soon bringits curtain across this stage,the avian casts’ final bows takenthe theater will darken, awaitinganother performance,a new script tomorrow,but for this solitary momentof frozen grace, it…
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TRY LOOKING
He loved walking around the small lake. He could make a circuit in just under 40 minutes. If. If he didn’t stop to marvel at or photograph some bird along the shore. The runners flashing by him gave him strange looks, likely because they didn’t see the beauty in this bird’s feathers, how the light…
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HEAVEN KNOWS
His extended wingsmomentarily block the sunsetting his feather tips ablaze.His vermillion talons graspthe waiting branch threateningto break it from the treeunless is bends to his will.His curved beak archesagainst an orange skyholding tightly tothe retreating sun.I can only watcha majestic momentand believe that somewherethe must be a Godfor nature alone could notconceive of a creatureof…
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Think Neither Good Nor Evil 無門關 二十三
A robe is infinitely heavy, the mountain weighs less than a feather you can move neither but the you before you carries both like a breath. A reflection on Case 23 of the Mumonkan (the Gateless Gate Koans)
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THE WEIGHT
We are obligated to carry memories, and as we get older the burden grows ever heavier, we bend under its weight, knowing we dare not lose even one for once castoff, the weight is carried off like the smallest feather on a storming wind. Soon enough it is we who will become the burden that…
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LIKE DUST
We are obligated to carry memories, and as we get older, the burden grows ever heavier, we bend under its weight, knowing we dare not lose even one for once cast off, the weight is carried off like the smallest feather on a storming wind. Soon enough it is we who Will become the burden…
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FARE WELL
She left this evening, slid away silently her goodbyes long ago said. She was a feather carried on a gentle breeze, refusing to land, until at last the earth reached up and reclaimed her, and she settled gently, her voyage over, our memories of her smile, her nod, her knowing winks, now fixed for eternity.
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THE MESSENGER TIRES
He says, in a quiet aside he hopes no one will overhear, that he has grown tired of being an angel. And not for the reason we might think, he adds with a wry smile. The work is not all that difficult, in fact there seems to be less of it week by week, but…
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WHAT, SHE ASKS, DOES A FEATHER SOUND LIKE?
echo of Galileo’s ball in speeding flight once cast off the tower, the cascade of butterfly wings in mid migration, and universes collapsing, and the sound of everything the moment before there was time.
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an old writer and his words 