So many blackbirds here in the garden. I like them. They’re busy, fossicking amongst the plants and leaves, hopping past my window, nesting at times in one of the hanging plants under the pergola.

They’re Druid birds, remining us of the Other worlds, the journeys within, the portals of other language, intuition, the elements, the things beyond the world of so-called reason and logic, the mechanistic.


About bydda88

I love poetry, writing, especially writing as healing, as touching the sacred, being touched. And place, places dreaming us, us them. Coasts, rivers, canyons; the ordinary things too, the small things, gestures that reach out.
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