Goldfinches by Mary Oliver
Some goldfinches were having a melodious argument at the edge of a puddle. The birds wanted to bathe, or perhaps just to dip their heads and look at themselves, and they were having trouble with who should be first, and so on. So they discussed it while I stood in the distance, listening. Perhaps in Tibet, in the old holy places, they also have such fragile bells. Or are these birds really just that, bells come to us--come to this road in America--let us bow our heads and remember now how we used to do it, say a prayer. Meanwhile the birds bathe and splash and have a good time. Then they fly off, their dark wings opening from their bright, yellow bodies; their tiny feet, all washed, clasping the air.

Always so nice to visit you. Stop by my place and catch my new giveaway! Happy Sunday!
ReplyDeletehave been catching up on events in your neck of the woods... things sound busy!
ReplyDeleteThe poems you post never fail to transport me, seconds stand still and the atmosphere is physically changed for a moment.... I don't know where you find them all :-)
hope alls well for you, have a great week :-)
Dear Distracted, was out of circulation for a while, doing some deep breathing elsewhere, but good to get back to the blogosphere, and to catch up a little with some of the best, like yours... love the music selections you've posted lately, the jazz cover, and the pieces from Mardi Gras, and this one. Awful to think that one tiny blood vessel can burst, and wham, we're sent away, never to return. Fragile creatures we are, strange how we can be so proud and arrogant, when we should be quiet and humble, oh so humble.
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