fieldnotes 3.14.17

Shivered

… finally, winter comes …

Don’t take our eyes.
Gravity, magnetism —
the weight and the wire —
thinly, in between
to draw us in and in.

You must carry the moon without claiming it.
Not fickle, but free-ranging —
the sirens when not singing,
in snow that’s never been stept on.

Don’t go underground.

If you shivered,
I’d bring a blanket.

Who can brave closer now?

There,
we are left to it,
and the crow comes.

Don’t take our eyes.



3.14.17

(28/20)

quieter. redwings and canada geese. tracks in the snow. a vole? then rabbit. harrier. a runner passes and now i can walk in his footsteps. better leverage. cardinals in the mixing bowl. chickadees. robins. pair of bluebirds. everyone’s all puffed up to stay warm. a third, very vivid bluebird. fox sparrow. flicker. fox sparrow. coyote. fearless. nuthatch. little flock of song sparrows. cardinal. coyote tracks, at least two, between the pond and the river. heron. eastern phoebe. mallards. and here are more coyote tracks. 3 or 4 this time.


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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