‘Don’t believe in yourself.’
Your mercy’s not enough to make me
and I’m running low.
The wind is putting everything to bed —
prairiegrass on its side,
a hawk braving it over the bare oakwood.
It is not enough to ask,
and anyway you can’t even bring yourself that far.
We’re on the darker end of dark.
The winter birds —
sparrows, goldfinches, a nuthatch —
huddle where the branches grow dense,
not exactly hiding.
And which are we?
Do we seek prey or communion?
Can we learn all the ways to care for fire?
We are shaped and made early.
We wait for wind, flame, moon, mood —
we wait for it to refine us,
to destroy these small vanities
and find that our virtues have never been an opposite of sin
but something more —
something that weathers it all —
something that simply is,
whether or not we fashion it to faith.
bit of flurry. insubstantial. redtailed hawk. nuthatch. hairy woodpecker. goldfinches and sparrows. flock of sandhill cranes over the east end. the ink keeps freezing in my pen. my cheeks are going to be wind-burned. how wind this cold feels like fingers of ice gripping the base of your skull. the naturalist. learning never stops. more books. resolutions. shouldve worn 2 hats today. a whole flock of song sparrows, down in the snow on the grass. low moaning wind in bare trees and dry leaved oak… all the ways of wind. canada geese. mallards. where the river diverts and meets the pond. how the wind makes tears then freezes them. ice along the edge of water. willful ignorance vs. curiosity.
‘We weren’t lovers like that and besides it would still be alright.’
Quote 1 (don’t believe): David Bowie / ‘Quicksand’ from Hunky Dory (1971)
Quote 2 (we weren’t): Leonard Cohen / ‘Sisters of Mercy’ from Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)