I’m drawn to the window where the hummingbirds
come; the shrill sound of wings precedes them;
then they hover at the red sugar water,
feeding before they’re gone.
August. Midday. Look up: flawless sky
until a cloud sprouts; sidles; suddenly
blots out the sun. Wind troubles the trees
We’re out of love again and wandering
with other birdwatchers over the cedar shakes,
spying on spring nesting sites where great
migrations end and settle into familiar patterns
of rearing and weaning.
When you have a dog, you get to participate in another creature’s being, a creature who wants to be with you, a human being.
It’s rare in sport to go out on top, to make the final chapter of a sporting career worthy of all the chapters that preceded it. But, Nicola Spirig has made a habit of doing the seemingly impossible.
How we stumble, are glib
in the face of our fear
when we might show
our own raw heart
We may not make it through this crisis. But no one can say for sure it is too late.
Watching Clouds Over Corippo (2019) feels something like seeing a series of Romantic landscape paintings brought to haunting life.
“This is not a drought, this is aridification,” said one water law expert. “This is the new world we live in.”
We have entered the Pyrocene, the Epoch of Fire.