Scarlet freedom

We live in a world
where we look at our mortality
rates as victims.
We are the mortality
and we are the victim.
We do our best to understand
where we fit into each round hole.
As if carnage from the heavens
scrapes its teeth at the edges
of our wars; and all the spillage
frees the smallest of fractions
while we struggle to dig
half a hole.

-M. Taggart

Catching Literature – O me! O life!

The question, O me! so sad, recurring–What good amid
these, O me, O life?

Answer
That you are here–that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a
verse.

-Walt Whitman, O me! O life! 
Drum-Taps 1865.

I read this last night while sitting on our back deck. Humming birds were flying between myself and the humming bird feeder. Sometimes one will hover near me while I read. Its wings beat rapidly and I don’t look up. Hearing is enough.

Recently, while leaning over the deck railing, a female landed on the feeder only inches from me. I strained my eyes to view. This is the closest I’d ever been to her. I watched her heart beat. She studied me and then fed. Her wings did not flap. She simply stood on the feeder. When she was done, she flew away, and I expelled the breathe I’d been holding.

This morning I again read O me! O life! and I think it’s a good morning.

Let’s not tell the clouds how to be – Odd Walking Thoughts

No Saturday no Wednesday nor Monday. They aren’t real.  The clouds pass overhead, along with the birds and whatever else may come, and know nothing of these things. These pressures created to push things and the things they push are you and I yet we do not need to give them existence if we’d like not to.  Let’s sit on a cliff and listen to the wind and watch clouds.  Let’s not tell them where to blow or when they ought to stop. Let’s then look higher than the clouds, after the darkness comes, and watch the stars and realize they also do nothing with time and care not about our pressures we’ve created.