here you find the
hovering fragilities,
a toppling consciousness of
breaking, of enduring
in shards of light and
twisted feathers, and
yesterday’s snowflakes
still half-sodden on the
ground – another dream
to melt for the future.
I happened upon this kestrel while hiking in the Pyrenees – or, at least, what is probably or most likely just possibly a kestrel; birds are hard to ID when they are a) far away and b) also you really don’t what anything is there? At all? It might also be a falcon (as in peregrine), which opens up a whole new realm of possibilities.
We saw two of them – one excruciatingly close, but unfortunately by the time camera was extracted, lens attached, hot chocolate drunk, etc., it became a very familiar story. So instead I watched it from afar as it watched the mountains – so small amongst the sky and so large as well, in its self-assured confidence.
And then, like so many other birds, I looked down, looked back up, and it was gone – sans wing-beat, sans form, sans movement, sans everything.
[…] this lil’ fellow while chasing what actually was a kestrel and, not, like my last post, a peregrine falcon. This was, however, still in Spain, though no longer in the mountains and rather hugging the […]
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beautiful
more poetry, buttafly, it goes so well with your pondering.
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Thank you! Your blog posts have really been an inspiration. 🙂
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D’aww I am touched, really 🙂
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[…] was extremely fruitful in terms of birdlife on a different side of the world. Black-winged stilts, peregrine falcons – it’s not something I’m bound to forget anytime […]
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