fieldnotes 1.3.17

Resolved

It ends and begins with bluebirds.
Our breathing is strategic:
We seek to prevent further loss —
or transform it
into some small spark
to keep against the dark —
that wave that swells,
but never quite consumes us.
We vibrate at its edge.
Don’t go down.

Is it the vague immediacy of fog that erases our boundaries?
We spill ourselves over —
like ink,
like blood,
like water that seeks then escapes
a million banks and edges —
not a thing to be contained against our will.
We wax with it —
become a vapor that kisses the clouds —
then condense to hover close to what we love most.
We freeze to fill its voids and cracks —
finding all the ways into it.

Who says our hearts have no sentience?
We are made of more than we know,
you and i,
more than can ever become clear.
There is always some new boundary —
real or imagined —
to cross,
some sameness or difference to adore.
But love,
don’t we relish the finding?



1.3.17

(39/19)

bluebird at the top of a tree. then two. chickadees. flock of robins at the marsh edge, singing. it’s melty today. goldfinch. song sparrow. sharp shinned hawk. big mixed flock with cardinals, goldfinches, juncos. At least a dozen cardinals, 30 or 40 juncos. 1 bluejay. song sparrow. birds constantly on the edge of hearing. robins. chickadees. all into the little thaw. mallards of course. the river high with melt. MUCK! bluejays. considering it’s january, i am impressively sweaty.

Notes:
Quote: (line 10, don’t go down): Nick Cave & Bad Seeds / ‘And No More Shall We Part’ from No More Shall We Part (2001)


about fieldnotes

fieldnotes was written at the Marsh beginning Sept. 26, 2016 and ending near the same time in the following year, collected in memo books over the course of many rambling walks.
Beginning on Sept. 26, 2019, three years after the writing, fieldnotes will be published in its entirety, with posts appearing as the corresponding write-dates occur.
(at least to the best of my ability)

Author: Emily

i'm busy trying to remember not to be busy

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