Post #25. April


Today I Learned the Robin’s Song

A person dressed all in black, even a hat hiding the eyes and a large covid mask was sitting on a bench this morning as I walked by on my way to our riverside park where I practice Tai Chi.

Odd, only tourists use these benches, I thought. They face First Street with their backs to the river and the park below — and it’s too early, for tourists.

My practice in the riverside park was distracted by her voice, so I stopped to listen and watch. Seemed she was explaining herself to someone, clearly to herself as she was alone, mixing tears with anger, becoming repetitious — the drone of a person lost in time.

Unseen in the trees was a Robin, or several, singing about spring in a strong, rhythmic voice.

Not sure what to do for the woman on the bench above me, I returned to the forms and completed the practice accompanied by her sad relent of things past and the strong birdsong of today.

I walked down First Street on my way home and all of the benches with their backs to the river were empty, but the song of the Robin was everywhere.

. . .


Shot #2!

. . .


A River of Joy

It was a River of Joy
in this morning’s bright light,
filled bank-to-bank with eddies —
large and small–like dancing couples,
spinning and swirling downstream,
caught between gravity and
the pull of the moon.

. . .