On today’s episode of crowtalker

16 dorks sitting in a tree across the street from CVS (across Fairview)

Saw them yelling up there from my spot on the Grandview Grille stoop. Came over here next to the NiceRide bikes to have a closer looked. We yelled at each other for a bit:

 

caw-caw-caw-caw-caw-caw: 6 caws, high-pitched, was came often

cawww-cawww-cawwww: 3 caws, longer/slower, deeper & more prounounced

3 or 4 of the screamers were really bouncing, & their torsos bobbing & bopping looked like they were heaving each caw with all their strength. Really neat to see. The eensy weensie ittie bittie branches atop the tree where they sat absolutely rocked as the screamers dedicated their entire abdomens towards crow-calling

After 10 minutes they all took off in unison, headed north/northwest. Fun stuff.

As I type this, I hear 3 more caws from a single crow. I look up – a pair of them have re-entered the eensy wensie ittie bittie branch zone

When I looked up just there, they left. For some reason I feel or expect that there should be more crows up there, lingering silently. Maybe there are but I can’t see them

 

Gibran on eating & drinking (post #100!)

What better way to celebrate 100 published scribbles than to ramble about food and food choices? As I type this I’m sitting with my laptop (1:19:27am) in the main stairwell of my apartment building. In less than probably 2-3 minutes a few slices of pizza will arrive via deliveryperson. Yum!

Soon it’ll be the drones delivering pizzas. Odd. Today I was out playing with a toy drone and happened to walk by something pretty cool: a block or so from the Macalester campus a small falcon/hawk (?) dashed within about 3 feet of my face, sort of perpendicular to the sidewalk. It carried with it some sort of a rodent or small brown creature (squirrel?) that was neither squirming nor resisting. Pretty limp. Snack time! I had never been so close to a bird that moved in that way except in a dream last year. So it was nice to see those huge rippling feathers for real!

Here’s Gibran on SNAX

Would that you could live on the fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the light.
But since you must kill to eat, and rob the newly born of its mother’s milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship.
And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in man.

When you kill a beast say to him in your heart,
“By the same power that slays you, I too am slain; and I too shall be consumed.
For the law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.
Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven.”

And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart,
“Your seeds shall live in my body,
And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,
And your fragrance shall be my breath,
And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons.”

And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyards for the winepress, say in your heart,
“I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,
And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels.”
And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;
And let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for the vineyard, and for the winepress.

Sometimes

you wonder who’s watching all these feelings

trillions of eyes glued and scrap-booked

sometimes you wonder if you’re the cup

or the spinning water, or the tea leaves.

you want to grab suffering by its weary shoulders, by its bus transfer, by its untied boots, by its exit wound, by its cinder-block cell. you want to grab the bloodied lovers, the shattered families, the eons of regret, and to tell them they are ok. sometimes you wonder if you could ever be that creative. you heard once that a dry-erase marker can erase a permanent marker. it should be impossible. but sharpie can be undone under one little condition: you have to draw over it first. sometimes you wonder if the world is the sharpie and if you’re supposed to be the dry erase marker and then you feel bad about yourself.

sometimes you wonder who’s spinning that dust in the air

floating freckling waiting to settle

sometimes you wonder if you’re the dust

or the air, or the nap.

 

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