bird out of the snow
bird out of the snow It’s the start of another day in the north woods; twenty degrees, four inches of fresh snow on the ground, thoughts in my head like leftovers from the day before yesterday warmed just enough to make it interesting to my personal sensibilities of vague innuendo and purpose. There is no end to contemplating the parameters of our existence in this world; a tree standing in the snow the sun just breaking through the clouds light wind brushing by my face. They say stars are but distant suns their light reaching us years after departure, Alpha Centauri the brightest and closest almost four years to arrive, Orion Nebula almost fifteen hundred and here I am concerned about how long it takes to fly from Boston to Cleveland. Our daily itinerary consists of appointments, shopping lists and vital necessity all the while breathing in life source inundated by ancient light stars not even visible at 8am in the morning. Approaching the edge of the river bank from ten feet below an eagle rises from the ice and water ruffled feathers and silence sweeping into the empty sky…