Once with my father
I sat in its shade.
We were coming from Isfahan
And wanted to go to Ferdows
From the desert.
There’s only past throwing
its shadow on the lane that sends you back
toward what is gone. Your eyes will soon adjust.
I am an outsider and always will be no matter how long I come and spend my summers here. I don’t mind; I like my existence framed this way, with enough sunlight to comfort my skin and aging body, and my ears thirsting to hear French laughter, and French whispers below my window.
it is sacred, the way
soil clinging to the seed
of a new shoot
pushing out of the earth
A celebration of old dogs, from the people who love them most.
Brett Wilkins: Wildlife Defenders Cheer Restoration of Migratory Bird Protections Gutted Under Trump
Over the last 50 years, the population of North American birds has declined by an estimated three billion birds.