Once upon a time, this blog was going to be all about my pet bird, when I got one. But I never did get that bird. So, now this blog is about the beautiful, curious things that keep me in a near-constant state of happy distraction. Ironically, many people find these writings when they wonder what "peristerophobia" means. It's a fear of pigeons. I've made a bird blog after all.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
A day of sun and birdsong.
If your day was as beautiful as our day here--the sun brilliant from start to stop, the starling singing the songs of six birds in the top of the tree (its chest puffing and ruffling to make both the sweetest of sharp notes and the most peculiar of titterytapping sounds), the tiniest daffodils you've ever seen blooming everywhere while the full-sized flowers follow suit--then you should take the time you would have spent reading what I'm not going to write, and you should use that time to remember what you saw.
Today was so lovely that I didn't carry the camera, didn't even want to punctuate the sense of all things by capturing single slices. May I awake in bright light again tomorrow with my arms sprawled on either side of my head and dogs drowsing in the living room, sun-swoozled. This morning, we were all like the babies in sweet pictures.
Annie Dillard could have been writing about me when she said (of herself), "I like the slants of light; I'm a collector." Or Willem de Kooning: "I'm like a slipping glimpser." And don't forget Brenda Ueland: "I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten--happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another." But the Beastie Boys might have said it best: "When it comes to panache, I can't be beat." There's a reason I wear a ring that says Badass.