three wingprints

on any given week, days may pass without me venturing out of the house for anything other that getting the mail or photographing my roses or ducklings, sometimes walking a visitor to their car.

On Tuesday evenings, Jim and I have been taking advantage of the $4 movie date-night nearby, and last night he and I met up with Christopher Quinn and his friend and went to see King Arthur. Jim was a few steps ahead of me, and I stopped to lock the door. When I stepped out onto the porch, a huge black feather fell out of the sky and landed at my feet. (Ah, I miss you, too.)

( After Lorca (by Tom Gannon) )

some time ago, ninquelosse turned me on to the pictures of the day at SFGate. When I came home from the movies, I ran out to look at the photos, and was rewarded with this:



an adequate jewel, indeed.

And then, in my dreams, baby Blade climbed into my lap and sang me the song about the sparrows. And though I would love to rework it and polish it, I cannot because this is just as he sang it to me, its triolet-like lines allowing him to sing it over and over without rest, occasionally varying the pauses or repeating a line, until he could not stop laughing.

The Song about the Sparrows
For Seasalt, in the voice of a six year old warrior

you never need to sing alone –
the little brown birds stay
when all the other birds have flown
to comfort in a land unknown
you never need to sing alone
the little brown birds stay
their hearts as faithful as your own
they have no wish to leave their home
they sing their songs for you alone
and do not fly away
you never need to sing alone –
the little brown birds stay

who am i meme

because I should be sleeping
nicked from laululintu

( long list of questions about who I am, in the hope that I will get to read yours )