Saturday, June 2, 2018

Walk on water


A robin chirps, scolds, exclaims in one way, loudly, urgently, but sings from a treetop in another, sweetly, yet with remarkable projection, and you think there must be two kinds of birds making these sounds, not one.

The little boy next door explains and describes things in a tongue not always easy to understand, yet you feel and are caught up in his happiness. And then later that same day, when you hear him crying from the other side of the fence that separates his backyard from yours, you wonder if that can also be him.

A woman, all business and perfume one day, then tender and vulnerable the next, in soft clothing which, for the life of you, seems as if it has already begun to melt.

A man up early, with a fishing pole, walking down a hillside to the edge of a lake before the heat of the day is on, father and son all at once, teacher and disciple, each in pursuit of his own thoughts; is this the same man who returned years ago from the war with nightmares and dysentery?

An obstacle appears in your path, its strength and size grows and recedes in direct proportion to the resistance you give it. No resistance, no obstacle. No you, no path. Yet joy remains, and love. You are everywhere and everything.



4 comments:

Stream Source said...

Ah! Were they robins? Thank you. I couldn't see who was singing - they stayed hidden in a thick shrub-type-tree we named, 'Don't know its name'. I heard them and was thinking much the same thing, as you. I was thinking there must be two kinds of birds, or was it the catbirds, again. They keep us guessing ...with as many sounds as any mockingbird can mimic.

I've heard that little boy and I've seen that same man, but I've wondered differently, about them. But, long ago, I was that woman who's since melted into everywhere and everything.

Aye. "...An obstacle appears in your path, its strength and size grows and recedes in direct proportion to the resistance you give it. ..."

William Michaelian said...

Robin atop a spruce . . .

We’ve heard birds that sound like ringing telephones . . .

Hello . . .

Thank you . . .

Stream Source said...

The bird who continues to capture my heart, this week, is a tiny finch. When I first heard a most delightful and robust song, I was certain the sound was coming from a bird the size of a blue jay. But no, there she was... all four inches of feathers and spark. Well, maybe she was that long if we'd measure her from the tip of her beak to the end of her pale brown tail-feathers. She'd found one leafless twig of a branch protruding from the lush-green cover. There she remained for several minutes - perched on a stage for the performance. A brief pause taken to fill the syrinx or lungs or whatever happens inside a songbird just before releasing this magnificence.

(sigh)

William Michaelian said...

feathers and spark — thanks for this beautiful passage — thanks for letting me know.