the space filled by birds

there are many sensorial

empty spaces in winter.

one that affects me

particularly

is the absence of birdsong.

the birds make wise choices

and follow the warmth south.

with them

go many little joys.

i love to watch swallows fly.

the great v's of geese.

trees filled with sparrows.

now they're back

those empty spaces

have been filled once more

with their hurried fluttering

and most especially

and wonderfully

with their song

bird

it was passed from one bird to another,

the whole gift of the day.

the day went from flute to flute,

went dressed in vegetation,

in flights which opened a tunnel

through which the wind would pass

to where birds were breaking open

the dense blue air -

and there, night came in.

woman encircled by the flight of birds

when i returned from so many journeys,

i stayed suspended and green

between sun and geography -

i saw how wings worked,

how perfumes are transmitted

by feathery telegraph,

miro - the beautiful bird

and from above I saw the path,

the springs and the roof tiles,

the fishermen at their trades,

the trousers of the foam;

i saw it all from my green sky.

i had no more alphabet

than the swallows in their courses,

the tiny, shining water

of the small bird on fire

which dances out of the pollen.

pablo neruda

and you know, it was e.e. cummings who said,

"i'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance".

nailed that one sweetly boyo!

miro woman and birds