A few weeks ago, I was up really early one morning and went out for a drive. It was still dark when I left home. I needed some air, to be out, to breathe some freshness into my body.
At the time I was just starting to fully grasp how my life had changed with a surgeon’s knife. I have expected this to be a more emotional journey than it has been so far, but I am so grateful for healing that it seems ridiculous to find anything but joy in daily life.
That morning I went down to Carey Park and near the lake were tons of Red-winged blackbirds. I taped one of them singing. Tonight I was reminded of this video and this poem, which seemed a perfect match.
Words do hold the fire of meaning for me, although lately I’ve not felt as though I’m expressing myself well. Maybe with more sleep and less stress I’ll do better.
by Pasquale Verdicchio
and wings of birds.
A red-winged blackbird
sparks against the sky
and green shrubs;
comes to rest in the safety
of calls that break
against our words,
clear and intelligible words,
and light the evening
with the fire of meaning.
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