and today, and todaycuckooo calls the spring last weektoday, sundayour first life was lost,in our small coastal town,to the ocean’s rise. on my phone,on my screen,on the front page ofthe actual made of paper papera picture of a murky wave –crashing the sea wall – heavingtaller than trees into the air on impact –charging forwarda…
birds are scattering songfrom high branches this morning,like berries for the faithfulit falls light and unanswerable, falls trill and pulse andwing purr melody,falls sweet likewell-tongued prayerson the lips of the holy. it calls us to deer paths and mud pathsand roots among the moss paths,calls us to the silent ways of fallen leaf –calls us…
1.saturday early and the chickensare singing up a stormold women on wooden pewsthin church voices vining the rafters,soon it will be day enoughto open their doorscatter the grain –leave themto their bustling and scratchingbefore the rain. 2.in knysna the roadsare crammed with touristsescapees from the cityseeking holy days and silencebecoming the noise they left behind…
Not a poem, but probably more beautiful. Francesca had her baby goat at 5:30am this morning.
corona has left meslow to think, slow to actslow to write – a 50kg bag of grainthree times the weight is was beforeand all the while the planet is hurtlingtowards our own inevitability so much fasterthan most of us can breathe through and francesca the goat laboursthrough the bright sky nightsecond of september and perfectly…
some mornings i find myself on my knees, seep wet to the night’s rain, attending the birth of a goat – the world for a moment still as first feet then nose push unmoving to the waiting world – an inanimate pause while the mother strains, then head and body slippery and warm struggling…
heron flies on slow wings – carries nesting sticks to the rising sun. sets them precarious in the roosting tree. dreams the coming season.
this evening, filling the birdbath while the sunbirds gather singing jewel bright songs on jasmine twines mulching between rows of greens for the warming days picking first peas by the setting sun – enough for cooking in the pods warm with butter feeling the day stretch towards summer.
the birds swallowed the moon. it sank – fell into the trees from the soft forest sky – corn yellow and full round it fell. the birds swallowed the moon this morning called their victory from the shadows and sang its rushing ocean beauty, bright nights and pulsing trees. the birds swallowed the moon…
this morning the coral tree is swarmed by white-eyes burying heads in giddy blooms up to their shoulders, gossiping and calling and laughing to one another, loud with first light – no time to wait for sunrise.