Pt. 6/31 in the Moon Cycle blog series.
Today was a full day; I attended the first of 3 days of Executive Director management training, then I made dinner and spent time with my housemates. As such, I’m turning in for the evening full of good information but ready for sleep’s sweet slumber. As such, here is a poem for today, one of my favorites, by Pablo Neruda.
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 the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air –
and there, night came in.
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,
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
Emily Jacobi 