It was 72 degrees Sunday afternoon as we covered plants in the garden and put insulation around the drip irrigation lines.
It’s supposed to be 34 this morning and 26 tomorrow.
I filled the bird feeders, thinking of Kim Stafford’s poem about a sparrow, giving itself instructions, worried about the eggs.
Use your body to be the tent over tender pebbles,
lopsided moons. Then wait, warm, alert, still
through wind and rain, hawk-shadow, owl night.
Stafford says that when we humans are enduring hawk-shadow and owl night, we ought to learn from the sparrow. Use instinct, thought and wisdom, the poet says. Get through it.
Before bedtime, I put logs and kindling in the fireplace, ready for morning.
• Source: Kim Stafford, Singer Come from Afar; Pasadena, Calif.: Red Hen Press, 2021, p. 18.
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