Walking off worry —
close kestrel encounter,
chickadees alarmed —
we are mutually watchful.
All of us.
And we balance the tears of our watching against the wind.
Try not to be afraid.
Accept that the gods are no good.
Make the rhythm of bootheels on a semi-frozen path
a part of winter’s song.
we are neither hunted,
a mink at the inlet. everything needs some empty space to expand into. robin in the hedgerow. redtailed hawk, looking southward. mixed flock of robins and goldfinches. 7 gulls in strange display. centering, somehow. windy toward the north end. mallards dining in the mud by the river. belted kingfisher.
bluebirds at the south overlook. redtailed hawk. kestrel. kingfisher. mallards. and another kingfisher. merganser.
bluebird worships the sun with quiet, shy hellos. everything catches light. sharp-edged reminders of freeze-thaw at the edge of blue ice. welcome it. all of it. adore its latent yet swelling strength. remember how it feels to let it in. 3 robins, high in flight. harder to see birds when it’s sunny, especially in winter. you’re looking into it too much. redtailed hawk. goldfinch. little flock of song sparrows. sun’s growing strength becomes tangible. robins singing, even now. the Value of robins in winter. passing an old nest in a tree right by the trail, wondering how many times i passed and never knew. gulls again? 4 mergansers. canada geese. blue heron on the river. mallards. cardinal. nuthatches.
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)