7 April
the ducks
> They speak SO LOUDLY
> I hear them coming
> Long before they arrive.
> Their sound fills the air
> Demanding my attention
> Their voice cannot be ignored.
> I lift my eye but see not their wings
> Or bodies or heads or beaks
> But I remember them.
> I've seen them before
> I hear their message.
> Their shadows dance across the rooftops
> Over the grass
> And through my window
> Reminding me
> The power of my own voice
7 Apr
The night sky's promise of magic never ceases
As she creates mystery of images known
Wrestles fear in those who have forgotten
And warms the hearts of those who remember
The shadows of sounds become familiar
The facade of day irrelevant
The oneness of all undeniable
In the silhouette of trees who were once distinguishable become a single dimensional horizon of dark beauty