Sunday, September 30, 2012

This bird has flown: Part Two – the Brown Eyed Girl

 So the imperfect pilgrim sits in the solemn solitude of silence watching the fresh new autumnal breeze loosen the orange yellowed red leaves. Geese honk heading home as portrayed in  Whyte’s wedge wings across the heavens burning their freedom into his own heart. Squirrels scamper this way and that gathering as many of the now land based acorns before anyone else notices.  Voices from past soccer fields to the words of gatherings of poets in the woods echo in the distance and Packers and sox still reign supreme. The hands of the flawless Swiss made watch tired from years of exacting rapid constant movement cease their efforts. Albums of memories fill the mega-chip banks of his weathered hard drive .Though expected , the new season seemed to arrive without warning.

He wonders if the second one’s launching has been adequately prepared and provisioned. Has he taught her enough? Has she listened? How could have he been more effective in his mentoring and modeling? Are the charts for the course accurate? Will she be confident when the winds shift and tides come and go? Will she call if she thinks she’s lost?  Did she know how much he loved her and how he tried to show it? Did he become overconfident with the perceived success of the first one’s departure from the safe harbor?

 The free bird is taking flight as a certified healer commissioned to join Florence and the Nightingales serving the broken hearts on the beast infested island of fading monuments.

The pilgrim believes that his prayers have always been answered and is hopeful that  they not be ignored now.They are all that are left.

“Please bless, protect, nourish and guide this young woman’s path and spirit all ways. Help her know the great love and peace around and within her.”

The nest empty and the carousel continues to move round. He recalls the museum man once observing, as they toked cohibas looking to the constellations one clear night on a plantation dock,

“The universe continues to expand. Every second something is changing. Something is being born.  Something is dying.  Nothing is ever the same. We can’t stop change. We just need to just be and let go.”

So the imperfect pilgrim sits in the solemn solitude of silence present to a new chapter, humbled and grateful for the undeserved grace and gifts. His companion hands him another cup and he responds with a small hope-filled smile

“Our baby’s gone.”

Poem - The  Journey by David Whyte

For Leigh...wishing you the best in all things all ways ! Love you ! xox :)


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