Messages From Carrie
Morning Pond
May 23rd, 2012
Just above the surface of the water
Mist moves
As if walking a labyrinth.
Winding, transparent patterns
Folding in and then out.
What began as a wash of sound,
A veil of birdcall,
Becomes
One
Two
Three
A hundred voices.
The laughing pileated woodpecker
The always give-um-a-piece-of-my-mind blue jays
The flute and chime of the wood-thrush,
The cautious beep and rasp of the nuthatch
The timorous finches and bold crows
The question mark of the phoebe
And the hello hello hello of the titmouse
And simple sweet dee dee deeeee
Of the chickadee.
More often than not
What we first experience as a solid,
Is actually an assemblage of the unique and individual.
A chorus of birds
Sing with separate voices.
A congregation of trees
Gives praise with dark and light
Smooth and ragged hands.
The sturdy floor of the creek
Is a muddy throng of random sized stones
Placed and replaced
One alongside the next.
When we say "them" or "they"?
Are we pointing at
The veil of a generalization
Or the wall of an idea?
Have we forgotten
That they and we
Are us,
And that symbols do not breathe,
And walls do not bleed,
A generalization is not a person,
Or bird
Or tree
Or any living thing?