Come, Look Quietly
The bird on the terrace has his own name in French, but I don't
know it. He may be a nuthatch, only he doesn't eat upside down.
He has a perfectly round small purple cap on his crown and a
slender long mask from his ears to his eyes all the way across. Come,
look quietly. All the way across Paris. Far behind the bird, the globes
of Sacre Coeur form out of the rain and fade again, all by themselves.
The daylight all across the city is taking its own time.
The plump Parisian wild bird is scoring a light breakfast at the
end of December. He has found the last seeds left in tiny cones on
the outcast Christmas tree that blows on the terrace
by James Wright from Above the River: Complete Poems (Noonday Press).
Happy Solstice! May you have time during these busy dark days to look quietly for something meaningful to you.
Poetry Friday is at Gina's -- aka AmoXcalli, where she also shares some really amazing -- blindsiding -- news about the Lakota Nation... The Lakota Sioux are going to become their own nation. Wow. History being made, people. History being made.