Car-window glimpses –
hints at something beyond
the fingerprinted glass
and constant humming
of movement and silence
in their endless dance,
because you love like this –
You cannot do anything else;
no space forms for anything else
in disappearing tarmac behind
and knowledge of the gap between
possibility and reality.
In the Spanish, or possible French Pyrenees, this house up on a hill, the snow-capped mountains behind, presented an unimaginably picturesque site. It looked as if a postcard had been pasted over the car window.
You get the most peculiar sense of deja-vu sometimes when you’re travelling, especially when driving and there isn’t time to examine the feeling further – perhaps it’s a result of our constant exposure to information, so we see much more, but I’d like to think it’s just a connection to a landscape, to a place – like it’s ok to leave your heart there, half-way across the world.
here you find the
a toppling consciousness of
breaking, of enduring
in shards of light and
twisted feathers, and
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.
Some lovely branches against the sky from the Pyrenees caught my eye. Their curling intricacies fascinated me, especially when the sun shone through – and so I photographed it.
On another note, posting will be sporadic to totally absent over the next ten days due to the fact I’m travelling and will likely have no internet, nor the time to schedule posts. But I hope to return with lots of lovely birds and other creatures to share.
An as-yet-unidentified raptor (which I would very much appreciate identification of) hovers in the sky over the Pyrenees – one of the many we saw. This raptor in particular was spotted along with some four or five others, that, by the time we stopped the car and got out, had coasted on the thermals too high for any camera.
I think I am in love with the mountains, in all their forms – the breathless immediacy of Himalayan forests, the desolate rocky crags of the Great Rift Valley, the blushing greenery of Japanese hills, and now the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees. It is hard to explain what it is about them. The snaking tendrils of snow, or the contrast between the white and the dark, or the green fields, the bite of cold, the footsteps of the animals before you, the picturesque villages, bare trees – it is hard not to love it.
(The unbelievable amounts of raptors, from kestrels to booted eagles, inhabiting their peaks don’t hurt either.)