“Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall and falling, they’re given wings.” ~ Rumi After their first four eggs were stolen from the nesting box, the Tree Swallows returned. I
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I prowl through budding milkweed and prickly blackberry plants for an hour looking for Monarch eggs and don’t find one. Monarchs are usually here by now, but I’ve only seen three. Last week, I found nine viable
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Every morning, I walk with my dogs before breakfast. Since one of my bird nesting boxes is near the trail head, I often checked in to see how the resident Tree Swallow family was doing. At last
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Where do I find joy during a plague of covid and pestilence of politicians without mercy for humans or the Earth? How can I survive this isolation and a long winter ahead? Holding back helpless tears, I
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“Come, Little Ones, it’s time to leave.” “But it’s cold out there.” “It’s cool but the sun is shining. I’ll carry you to a place where you’re protected from the wind.” “We like it inside in our
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On a late summer evening, my friend Lisa and I walk in the old forest where she lives not far from my home. I admire the roots of trees clinging to the sides of a steep gully
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The sun speeds south on the western horizon. Autumn equinox is near. Twenty or more chrysalises in the Monarch nursery still need to fly south. The hummingbirds are already gone A female Monarch who eclosed last night
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The Earth burns. Citizens are shot for no reason other than the color of their skin, and children are sent to unsafe schools and back home again. The pandemic is ignored or politicized and masks are too
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The bluebird boy uses his beak to carry bugs and caterpillars for his nestlings and haul away nestling excrement deposited in fecal sacs. He keeps a tidy nest. The female does all this and has a uterus
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It’s my safe spot now. I don’t love the dark walnut wood, but I love memories of climbing in bed between my grandparents as a child. After grandpa died, Mom slept in this bed with Grandma Margaret
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