Um, precisely? I ask. Let’s see:
Endomondo says I did a 17.2 min. a mile lap, after an earlier lap took 30 min.
because I stopped to watch Common Merganser babies on their Mama’s back.
But another time,
I PASSED a Dad pushing an infant in an umbrella stroller
& carrying a toddler with no shoes on his shoulder
while his 4-year old hung on his carpenter pant loops.
That fast. About.
I see this rare leucistic Red-Tail Hawk, almost completely white except for a few colored feathers, at the cornfield’s edge, its temporary home away from deep snow and low food supplies. A white Red-Tail has an advantage in catching prey when the ground is covered with snow. But it’s often besieged by harassing hordes of relentless ravens. It holds its own for the most part, despite the disparity in numbers. I’ve yet to see any other Red-Tails enter the fray to come to this beleaguered hawk’s assistance.
Once more into the Fray…
Into the last good fight I’ll ever know.
Live and Die on this day…
Live and die on this day…
Have you seen the 2011 Liam Neeson flick, The Grey? This poem doesn’t just end the movie but provides the frame for the entire narrative.
Surrounded by bones, standing in the falling snow, and ringed by the wolf pack for his final stand, Neeson (looking rather hawkish) flashes back to his dad’s den where the poem hangs on the wall.
#71 I, Isabel Scheherazade, leader of the wide-awake life, who writes things down so I can catch them to think about later, Remember Something Mom Always Said to Me. Sorry for the caps, but it shows emphasis. (Hey, I’m “in charge of this blog” as Pop says to me.)
Isabel, come see! You’re going to love this! Mom was always finding something in nature that she was sure I didn’t want to miss. Most of the time she was right.
Like the time Mr. Cardinal, as Mom called him, was wooing Mrs. Cardinal with bugs and sunflower seed. I mean, it was interesting, just not so interesting that I wanted to sit still for a ton of time to see the courtship unfold.
But do you know? I can still feel her calling out to me. Not the actual words–just the THUMP of the words.
Think about the rhythm a poem has.
If “ISABEL, come see! You’re going to LOVE THIS!” were a poem, it would have 10 or 11 syllables or parts. So what I feel–a lot–is this vibration with the first three syllables and the last two. It’s like they’re accented or whatever it’s called in poetry.
What happens when I feel these vibes?
I look around for something I might be missing.
ISABEL (I guess you’d say this was a story from the Way-Back-Seat-of-My-Memories. A mini story with a major impact.)
David Sibley, Eyal Megged, Israeli-Palestinian conflict, joan strassmann, Moshe Dayan, selective history, slow birding, Tablet Magazine, Tablet:A new read on Jewish Life, the use of the word unmistakable
“Unmistakable” is how Sibley describes the black and orange American Redstart.
As a novice I trope toward the easy ID,
but that gives the garish undue value
so I miss the confusing warblers.
Like peace groups gone quiet in the face of fierce hatreds
& the one Official Narrative.
Yet at some point the We vs.THEM
must credit the stories* of the other side
& value co-existence above just survival. That’s unmistakable.
*Or perhaps it’s a lack of imagination. Mine was caught by a piece in Tablet: A New Read on Jewish Life, called Parallel Lives: Imagining a Different Future for Israel and Palestine by Eyal Megged. It was Eyal who pointed out to me that Moshe Dayan’s quote is parsed and cut to suit the One Story.