what I've learned from life, by Mary Elyn Bahlert
rumbles, marking work and action.
Here, hummingbird darts at the red feeder,
chases the giant sparrow away (chuckling, of course).
Squirrel hordes nuts and things for winter.
The small creatures of earth move as if there is no train in the distance, as if this moment is all there is, which is truly true, busy, bursting bodies, breath.
A siren roars , cuts through silence in which the creatures thrive, part of the mystery, also.
meb/10/2015
***
Reflections, autumn morning, city
I stop at the statue of Mary,
white marble dedicated a century ago. There I pause – something in me turning to devotion at the sight of her – to behold this stone-cold effigy.
Together, we continue the silence that attached itself to me when I walked among the graves.
From there, I enter the gate, walk into the noisy city. A dark-skinned post-man steps down from his truck, sees her, too.
He genuflects, ancient devotion repeated for this stone-cold effigy.
meb, 2/1015
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