The exercise:
Today's prompt: the robin.
I will have to get some pictures up once I get hold of a decent internet connection. Until then, just imagine a little piece of paradise here on Earth and you'll have a pretty good idea of where I'm hanging out.
Mine:
I look at you.
You look at me.
I wonder
What you're thinking.
You wonder
Where the worms
Have gone and
If I'm to blame.
5 comments:
Charming piece, Marc. I can feel the sadness. I always feel guilty for displacing the wildlife whenever I rearrange the garden (even if it's just weeding).
The Robin
The delicate balance of day and night shifts,
ever so gently.
The light shall now defeat the darkness
and conquer the moon.
Glorious fire shall reign
and all will praise its power.
And The Robin shall herald its return.
I'll look forward to the pictures! You're doing pretty well with the little internet connection you've got, and I appreciate your continued dedication to getting these posts up.
I like your robin, and I sympathise heartily with his suspicions. You worm-stealer, you.
The robin
Wings aflutter
Around a heart of fire,
A tiny territorial
Featherball
Stands guard daily at my gate.
Though cats may stalk
And sneak and skulk
They're not so bright
As they'd like to think,
And my robin outsmarts
Them all.
Beady black eyes
A red head tipped
Worm located
Breakfast.
Sarah sat in the drafty room, pulling in one trap after another. Most of them were empty. A few caught false hopes: fallen branches, a chipmunk, fur from a much larger animal. It was lonely tedious work and she was grateful for it. Working at the conservatory recording tagging birds had proven a perfect escape from life.
She sat back in her creaky chair, the dull ache in her arms forcing her to take a rest. Looking around, she noted her surroundings for the millionth time. the worn barn walls, dusty equipment, bowed rafters, creaking floorboards. There was a softness the way light slanted through some of the cracks. One of the cracks was so wide, she could see the branches of a tree that brushed against the barn. She summed them up the same way she had her life. Broken, with little beauty.
Rubbing her arms for warmth and to release the building tension, she went back to pulling the traps back in. She smiled at herself. It was the first time she had admitted there was some beauty in her life. The thought was large enough to push a door open and other similar thoughts came in. Had her emotional wounds healed over the last several months of solitude? Was she ready to face life? Could she do it without falling apart or imitating the mistakes made with her? She sat still, the rope held tightly in her hands.
The wind blew and the branches brushed against the barn wall. It drew her attention. Turning to look, she saw a Robin sitting delicately on the branch, several twigs in its mouth. Slowly, the red-bellied bird set to work building a nest. She watched silently, taking in every flight, the slow and cautious work of adding more materials, a home that slowly began to take shape, the persistence of that small creature diligent in creating a safe environment.
It was time to take flight.
Monica - thanks, and it's great to see you around here again :)
Lovely little poem, I think I like the second stanza best.
Greg - it is true, I am a terrible thief :(
That was great, the rhythm of the second and third lines was fantastic.
Morganna - short but awesome! I wish I could say the same about this comment!
Heather - holy jeez, that was a great bit of writing from such an innocuous prompt! Very, very nicely done.
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