I saw Jesus napping in a hammock in my backyard. A transistor radio lay on his chest. A baseball game was on. Orioles and Yankees.
I stepped softly past the hammock, slipped around the pond (frogs croaked), and into a field of flowers.
I picked three fistfuls of bluebells and put them in a jar. I walked to my neighbor’s house. The shades were pulled.
(Her son was buried yesterday. No one came.)
I set the jar on the porch.
(A blackbird limped across the porch, gasping with each halting step. One wing was broken. It stood still, trembling, uncertain. I kneeled on the step, watching, a vigil to keep. The sun was slowly sinking down. The silent bird shuddered, fluffed its feathers, rose on its toes, lifted both wings, and flew away.)
I walked back to my yard.
The hammock was empty.
The radio was on.
The Orioles won.
Check out Paula’s three flower photographs on the home page.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly…
I had some down hours yesterday and went out for some exercise. I walked the streets of New Orleans alone for about 45 mins. Every street was empty but the parks weren’t, they were full of black birds. Everywhere black birds – flying, singing, eating and socializing.
…Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
“Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird.” The difference being that one bird stands for all birds, but every person dear to us is unique and irreplaceable. Thinking of individual lives as part of the great current of humanity is consoling, but it takes you only so far when you want to hear their voice. There’s a parallel here to rivers and baseball seasons and birds in our backyard, but if you’ve lost somebody, you’ve lost somebody. To everyone, stay safe.