Things happen

Feathers fallen


This isn’t the next poem about “crow’s change”. I may get to that in the coming days. Crow’s change is written around a crow’s mysterious death and my interpretation and attention to it. I discovered crow one morning on the trail, found a place on the edge of the woods, set him in the moss and twigs and gathered him into my thoughts.

Yesterday there was suggestion of greater change and this morning it was done.

Often when walking, I write or voice-record thoughts on my do-everything-phone. The voice records are usually quite accurate but there are times when single or even groups of words are altered that change the meaning entirely. This isn’t a problem because I just need an idea of what I was thinking. I haven’t used the voice recorder for a long time. Today I wrote a number of things… and for some reason switched to record for a last, important fragment and realization.

Every word was correct, except one. The word “eagle” was dropped and replaced by another.


This morning

the ego waited for me to come;

lifted off the tree,

dropped the remains

so that I would know.