Of blue jays

A Letter from Home

Mary Oliver

She sends me news of blue jays, frost,
Of stars and now the harvest moon
That rides above the stricken hills.
Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,
And lists what is already lost.
Here where my life seems hard and slow,
I read of glowing melons piled
Beside the door, and baskets filled
With fennel, rosemary and dill,
While all she could not gather in
Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.
Here where my life seems hard and strange,
I read her wild excitement when
Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.
The broken year will make no change
Upon her wise and whirling heart; -
She knows how people always plan
To live their lives, and never do.
She will not tell me if she cries.

I touch the crosses by her name;
I fold the pages as I rise,
And tip the envelope, from which
Drift scraps of borage, woodbine, rue.




First of all, the little Blackpoll Warbler, for those wondering, made it through the storm and is feeding this morning. It's still snowing to beat the band, a wet heavy blend, blanketing the world outside our windows. We kept our power and the accumulation is lower than expected because of the rainy period we had earlier last evening tramping everything down. We're about 25 minutes from the coast, so our snow is often wet and changeable. We probably have 15 inches instead of the 24 we would have had with lighter and fluffier stuff. Our cable/internet is in question, so I'm going to cross my fingers and try to post this.




Little Miss Blackpoll Warbler made it through the blizzard!


Birdwatching from a barn window

Mrs. Downy