Poetry Friday: Birdtober Day Eight: Common Yellowthroat

 

Today's poem is about the Common Yellowthroat, but it's also about my family. I mused here, by way of Pablo Neruda, about that tendency to write about ourselves, no matter what we're ostensibly writing about. Today's photos are mine, too. The first one is the wetland in Kansas (mentioned in the poem) and the other three are from my research. Other sources I used: Common Yellowthroat and Common Yellowthroat.

I'll post links at the end to the other Birdtober entries so far.

Common Yellowthroat

In April,
we saw a Common Yellowthroat in Haiti
on a scrubby mountainside.
Turns out,
that’s where some of them
spend the winter.
Their Kreyol name:
Ti Tchit Figi Nwa,
little bird with a black face.

We saw so many birds that day,
and heard others.
(We were birding with an expert friend
who pointed out beautiful sights
we would never have seen on our own.)
Maybe the best:
a Narrow-billed Tody,
neon green with a bright red chin,
a lifer.
The Common Yellowthroat
was a lifer too.
I don’t remember him particularly,
but he’s on my list.

In July,
we saw three Common Yellowthroats in Kansas
in a protected wetland.
Turns out,
that’s where some of them
breed.
Their midwestern name:
yellow bandit.

We saw so many birds that day,
and heard others.
(We were birding with an expert friend
with a spotting scope
and there was a bird checklist available
with the sign at the entrance,
complete with map and photos
and an admonition not to hunt or fish.)
Maybe the best:
a Great Blue Heron,
slate blue with a long and graceful neck,
a lifer.
The Common Yellowthroats
were lovely too,
and we listened to their
witchety-witchety-witchety call
and chased them until we found them.

Later in July,
we saw two Common Yellowthroats in South Dakota
in a mountain forest.
Turns out,
that’s where some of them
spend the summer.
Their scientific name:
Geothlypis trichas,
a small thrush close to the ground.

We saw so many birds that day.
and heard others.
(We were birding with our children,
who walked on ahead,
laughing and talking
and enjoying each other’s company,
going really too fast for birding,
but together, and with us,
so we were happy.)
Maybe the best:
Cedar Waxwings,
delicate and dapper,
a lifer.
The Common Yellowthroats
showed up on the sound ID,
hanging out in the trees,
catching bugs.

I’d like to say
we followed the
Common Yellowthroats,
flying in an airplane
instead of winging north
(migrating nocturnally),
like they did,
but of course
our journeys weren’t related.
We just crossed paths a few times,
birds and birders,
as we lived the quiet drama
of our own lives,
and they got on with theirs.
We just listened to them
and spied on them through binoculars.
Turns out,
that’s one way some of us
mark our days:
by the birds.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Here's are the poems I've posted so far for Birdtober:

 

Last Poetry Friday, October 1st: Antillean Palm-Swift (rhyming poem)

Saturday, October 2nd: White-necked Crow (short free verse)

Sunday, October 3rd: Bee-eater (list poem)

Monday, October 4th: Brown Creeper (tanka)

Tuesday, October 5th: Hornbill (rhyming poem from the bird's POV)

Wednesday, October 6th: Common Grackle (short free verse)

Thursday, October 7th: Rallidae (except not really - this giant extinct flightless Haitian bird isn't a true member of the rail family, Rallidae, but I couldn't resist writing a limerick about it anyway)

 

Today's roundup is here.

Spiritual Journey Thursday: Here

"When someone asks us where we want to be in our lives, the last thing that occurs to us is to look down at our feet and say, 'Here, I guess, since this is where I am.'" Barbara Brown Taylor, in An Altar in the World

I should have written my post this morning, instead of waiting until I came home from work, tired and grumpy. It is easier for me to be spiritual in the morning, when the day's possibilities still lie ahead and the temperature is cool and the birds are singing outside my window. 

And yet here is where I am, here in this place, here in this body, here at this age, here in this moment. This is the reality of my life, the only time I can claim. Here.

 

So. Here is where I am. Here after my disappointing day and before the night when I may or may not sleep. Here, where things aren't the way I'd choose for them to be. Here, with my children far away. And here, with so much to be thankful for. Here, with the food I just ate sitting comfortably in my belly. Here, in my healthy body that's not in pain. Here, loved. Here, with God. Here. 

 

Ramona, this month's host, asked us to reflect on the word "here." You can see what she and everyone else said... here.

Birdtober Day Seven: Rallidae

 

Why does today's prompt use the scientific name for the rail family, Rallidae, when all the other prompts use common names? I have no idea. 

I haven't seen any birds from the Rallidae family, but I went looking for information on one of the exemplars in Haiti. There's the Clapper Rail (reported on eBird in my region 31 times ever) and the Spotted Rail (which has been seen in Haiti and reported on eBird exactly one time). But my Googling also brought me to this article (and this, this, and this). 

 

See, there was this giant flightless bird that once lived in Haiti, called a Haitian Cave Rail. It's extinct now, but DNA studies on its fossilized toe bone show that its ancestors came, not from the Caribbean, but from the South Pacific or Africa. And it's not really a member of the Rallidae family as once thought. No, this bird is more closely related to -- wait for it -- Flufftails. I mean, come on. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

So instead of a real member of the Rallidae family, I absolutely could not resist writing about Nesotrochis steganinos, the Haitian Cave Rail. (I guess you could say I went off the rails.) A limerick seemed appropriate. And no, it wasn't exactly a toenail, but close enough.

Genetic Surprise

The giant extinct Haitian Cave Rail

Turns out to be really a Flufftail.

Flightless yet terrific,

From the far South Pacific

Or Africa. So says its toenail.

 

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

 

 Fossilized bones from the Haitian Cave Rail

Photo Source: https://caribbean.loopnews.com/content/study-uncovers-african-south-pacific-link-extinct-haitian-bird

 

Birdtober Day Six: Common Grackle

 

We don't have Common Grackles where I live, but I saw many many of them the last time I was in the United States. I wrote my poem from that perspective, but in my research I also learned something fascinating, as I was trying to find out where the scientific name, Quiscalus quiscula, came from. Apparently Linnaeus invented the genus name Quiscalus, and it's not clear where he got it, but one theory is that it comes from the word Quisqueya. This is the original name of the island of Hispaniola, frequently used in Haiti and the Dominican Republic alike. Wikipedia, quoting The Helm Dictionary of Scientific Bird Names, translates it "mother of all lands." Here in Haiti I have heard the translation "cradle of life." 

So how about that? There is a Haitian connection to the Common Grackle.

 

My friend Joanie Engeman Tomlin gave me permission to use her gorgeous photo of two Common Grackles for this post. Thank you, Joanie!

 

 

Common Grackle

They’re rascals,
Sometimes pulling up plants,
Sometimes eating another bird,
With a voice like a creaky gate
And a penchant for letting ants
Tend to their personal hygiene.
A flock of them is called
A plague of grackles.

They’re everywhere as the sun comes up,
So many you stop adding them to your checklist,
Groaning, “Not another grackle!”

But look again:
What a beautiful bird!
Social, caring for each other’s fledglings
Common, yet priceless
Drab, yet burnished with iridescent color
Shining in the morning sun.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Here are the sources I used: Quiscalus, Common Grackle, Common Grackle, Common Grackle, Getting to know the Common Grackle

Slice of Life Tuesday: Birdtober Day Five: Hornbill

 

 

 

There are about 55 species of hornbills in the world ("about" because there is some controversy over how the species should be split). They can be found in Africa, Asia, and Melanesia.

 

I had a lot of fun writing my hornbill poem. I didn't specify one hornbill species, but wrote it more generally. At the end you can see my sources.

 

 

I asked my friend Joanie Engeman Tomlin for permission to use one of her amazing photos in tomorrow's post, and she graciously offered me more photos, too, so you can see some of hers here, and you'll see them again for upcoming birds!

Red-billed Dwarf Hornbill, from West Africa

Photo Source: eBird

 

Great Southern Hornbill, in South Africa

Photo by Joanie Engeman Tomlin

 

Hornbill


Why must you always, always broach my bill?
I know it is spectacular, but chill,
My eyelashes are also fit to kill,
The sounds I make will always bring a thrill,
The oldest one of me was 19 mill
-ion years ago, and look, I am here still!
And yet it always comes back to my bill,
Made of an ivory folks like to carve until
It makes a gorgeous netsuke - that’s brill
For samurai, but not for me; it will
Involve my death. I have more facts to spill
But once again, you’re speaking of my bill.
Some species bear the name of “rhino,” bitter pill
For one so beautiful. There’s no ill-will
From me to you, but my task is uphill
To get respect without becoming shrill.
Take notice of my other traits: my skill
At nesting in a hollow tree, my finding food abil
-ity, my way of caring for my babies - all these fill
My mind, and yet you only know my bill.
Why must you always, always broach my bill?
I tell you, I am more than just my bill.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

 

 

Yellow-billed Hornbill in South Africa

Photo by Joanie Engeman Tomlin

 

 Rhinoceros Hornbill from Malaysia

Photo Source: eBird

Sources: Wikipedia article on Hornbills, San Diego Zoo article on Hornbills, Example of a netsuke made from Hornbill ivory 

 

 

You can see everyone else's slices here.

Birdtober Day Four: Brown Creeper

 

Although Brown Creepers are common all over the United States, I've never seen one. I researched them on eBird and Audubon.org. (Check out this article on bird camouflage; there are several amazing photos of birds blending into their surroundings, and if you scroll down you'll see a Brown Creeper - or, I should say, you'll have trouble seeing one.) 

 

I decided to write a tanka about the Brown Creeper. 

 

 Brown Creeper

Photo Source: eBird

Dinnertime for the Brown Creeper

Camouflaged creeper
Crawls up tree like moving bark
Insect connoisseur
Passes nuthatch crawling down,
Fellow guest at bug buffet.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Birdtober Day Three: Bee-eater

 

 

I am learning so much from this project! The bee-eater research was especially fun as I hunted them down in eBird; the colors are so bright and various. Here are my other sources: 10000birds.com,  Wikipedia's Bee-eater article. Plus my brother told me about the seven species he's seen. 

 

Stay tuned at the end for an amazing video from the Bronx Zoo, the very first day they fed bees to their captive bee-eater population. And another one where you can see the way the bee-eaters slap their food against a branch.

 

Bee-eaters

Crayon-box of bright colors
With a slash of black over their eyes,
Twenty seven species of bee-eaters
slap their prey on a branch before eating:
Slap
slap
slap!

In Africa a Northern and Southern Carmine,
Rosy, Cinnamon-chested, Little, Somali,
Blue-moustached, and more;
Rainbow in Australia;
Asian ones Blue-bearded, Blue-cheeked, Blue-tailed;
There’s a Red-bearded in Malaysia,
Purple-bearded in Indonesia,
All slapping away:
Slap
slap
slap!

You can see one in Queen Hatshepsut’s tomb.
Aristotle said to kill them to protect your bees.
Back when people wrote letters,
Bee-eater stamps winged their way around the world.
Hindus say if you gossip you’ll come back as a bee-eater.
They bathe in the dust and sun themselves,
And they grasp stinging bugs in their down-turned bills:
Slap,
slap,
slap!

 

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

 

The bee-eaters are in the second half of the video, but I found the whole thing fascinating. 

 

 

Here's a closer view of a bee-eater slapping its food.

Birdtober Day Two: Artist's Choice

 

Today for Artist's Choice I chose to write about White-necked Crows, the Caribbean's largest corvid. These birds are loud and huge (17-18 inches long) and I wrote about them before here. Even though I started this project as a bit of a "Look up in the sky and away from what's happening down here on the ground," I find that the Haitian situation has crept into today's poem. Last week I pointed some White-necked Crows out to a Haitian friend and she replied that back in July there were many of them around (I was out of the country). She added that people always say that they mean something bad is going to happen. I didn't know that before, but I can imagine why, with their raucousness. She said it sounded like they were fighting in the sky, and then they found out the president of the country had been assassinated. I used the Kreyol word for these birds in my poem title.

A Murder of Korbèy

White-necked Crows’ cacophony in early July
Sets people in Haiti talking darkly of omens
Until the news fills with unendurable details
And a president is gone

 

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Screenshot from the Merlin app

 

Poetry Friday: Birdtober Day One: Swift

 

 

 

I'm not at all sure that I'll be able to do every day of this Birdtober challenge, but I'm going to try. (Check back during the week to see how I get on, or I'll post links to all of them on Fridays.) Certainly I had to do the first day, for which the prompt is a generic "Swift." There are about a hundred species of swifts throughout the world, but here in Haiti we have the Antillean Palm-Swift, so that's what I wrote about.

Yes, wrote. Birdtober is supposed to be about visual art, but I'm borrowing photos to illustrate, and writing instead.

I learned a lot about the swifts in general and the Antillean Palm-Swift in particular, only a tiny bit of which shows up in the poem. For example, the family name is Apodidae, meaning footless. My first draft used the word "footless," but I replaced it with "footloose," because they aren't really footless. They got that name because they hardly ever use their feet, since they are almost always flying. Antillean Palm-Swifts have purple feet, reportedly. I wouldn't know, because they never hold still, and I only see them flying way way way above me. But I believe it, because Philip Henry Gosse, the British naturalist who first named them in Jamaica in the 1840s, tells us without a trace of regret that he saw a bird clinging to a nest, "which I shot." Presumably he then held it in his hand to examine every part. You can read more of his detailed and fascinating description here. (I'll put links to more of my sources at the end of the post.)

I really wanted to put Gosse himself in the poem, because he was quite the character, but I didn't - this time. Maybe later! 

 

You'll see in the poem that they build nests, in common with other swift species, using their spit; this species nests in coconut palms.  You'll also see some more of their habits.

Photo Credit: Joshua Vandermeulen, eBird.com

Antillean Palm-Swift


Darting
up
above
the sands

Eats
mid-air
and rarely
lands

Catches
bugs
and sleeps
while flying

Flapping,
squeaking,
high-pitched
crying

Black
and white,
retreats,
advances

Island-
dweller
twitters,
dances

Coco-
nutty
nests
of spit

Footloose,
fancy,
flit
flit
flit

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

 

Sources: Antillean Palm-Swift, eBird, Swift Wikipedia, Antillean Palm-Swift Wikipedia, Antillean Palm-Swift DataZone BirdLIfe International, Philip Henry Gosse, Swifts - info and games 

Catherine at Reading to the Core has today's roundup.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Compliment, Eighth Grade Style

Last week I showed my eighth graders a photo of me as a child. It was part of a presentation where I shared the process I had gone through to write a poem. I told them about an experience I had had, and then showed them my brainstorming, my first draft, research I did to improve my details, and so on. The photo, taken with my brothers long ago and in a galaxy far, far away, illustrated how I looked when the events in the poem took place. 

"Miss!" said one student in amazement and delight, "You used to be pretty!"

I did not respond in the way I wished to, which would have been something like this: "Ah, yes, my child! But that was before....the hideousness!" (Evil cackle.) Instead, I just smiled and thanked her. 

You can read everyone else's slices here.

Poetry Friday: Migrants

Yesterday I saw my first warbler of the year, the first migratory bird this season (except a couple of Ospreys I saw two weeks ago). I'm pretty sure it was a Prairie Warbler, but it's a little hard to identify them when you're a beginner like me, and so many of them are various shades of black and brown and yellow. Here's what I wrote about it:

First migrant this year

Hides behind leafy branches - 

So much I can't see.

 

The main kind of migrants in the news these days are the human variety. Here in Haiti we have been reeling from the photos and words from Del Rio, Texas. It's easy to stereotype the people under the bridge, but everyone there has a unique story, a complex set of events that led to this moment. 

I've been thinking about Rupa & The April Fishes' song Poder. It talks about what can cross the border and what can't. Obviously birds can and do (we're starting to see them arriving here), but for people it's a lot more challenging. The song on the video is in Spanish, and below is the English translation from the CD liner notes. 

Power

 

the fish can

the wind can

even money

but not me

the song can

love can

even a little kiss

ay! because of this border

the earth cries, the earth cries

and I do too

in spite of this border

life is like water

it must run

the coyotes can

an ice cream can

even a whisper

but not me

the televisions can

injustice can

even my work

but not me

my thirst can

my gaze can

even my heart

but not me

Rupa Marya

When people who are being deported arrive back in Haiti, lots of them have microphones and video cameras thrust at them and the raw stories come pouring out. Many have crossed nine or ten countries to reach Texas, facing heartbreaking danger and abuse along the way. And now, they are back where they started. All that money, all that risk, all those months of travel thrown away. Home now in a country they no longer recognize, full of so many new problems beyond the ones they originally fled. 

What should be done? It's not clear. But each migrant has a story; we don't know until we listen. There's so much we can't see.

 

I appreciated this article that goes into the history of the current crisis in depth. There's plenty of blame to go around on both sides of the political aisle in the US, through policies in many countries including the US, Haiti, and Mexico, and in individual decisions. It's long, but well worth reading if you're seeking to understand how things got this way.   

By the way, next Friday is the 1st of October, and I am trying to do at least some of Birdtober this year. I'll be writing, not drawing, and I've only written one post so far, so we'll see how that goes. I thought if I wrote about it here today, I might increase the likelihood that I'll do more! 

 

Laura has this week's roundup.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Dessalines Day

This is a version of a Facebook post I put up yesterday.

Yesterday was a new holiday in Haiti, Dessalines Day. Yes, we've had Dessalines Day for a long time, but always in October, commemorating the day of his death. This year we are celebrating the day of his birth (and we will still have the holiday in October, as a day of mourning). The US Embassy put this painting of Dessalines on Facebook with their notice that they would be closed on Monday, September 20th. Then the comments started. Some said the Embassy should keep the sacred name of Dessalines out of their mouths (they aren't worthy to speak it). Many muttered about hypocrisy. Someone asked what independence they were talking about (Dessalines is a hero of the Haitian struggle for independence). Isn't the US ashamed to claim to be Haiti's friend, people wanted to know? One said that the US was deporting 275 Haitians to mark the day. Several said, "Bondye wè nou." God sees us.

Some of the people returning to Haiti right now have been out of the country more than ten years. They went to South American countries for jobs, like getting ready for the Olympics in Brazil or construction work in Chile. Now they have undertaken the incredibly difficult and dangerous journey through South America and Central America, reached the border with Texas, crossed it, and boom, they are suddenly back in Haiti. Many of them are children born in one of those countries along the way, kids who've never been to Haiti before at all. The people under that bridge in Texas aren't trying to make some political point; they are trying to find a place where they can work and feed their families. Have you seen the photos of border patrol officials on horseback with whips, rounding up Haitians who are bathing or washing clothes in the river? I assure you that in Haiti people have seen those photos. When I saw them, they were captioned, "Our misery."

 

 Here's my post from the original Dessalines Day in October, from 2011.

 

And here are other people's slices for today. 

Poetry Friday: History

There were lots of things to write about this week, but unfortunately no time or emotional bandwidth to write. I just know that Frederick Buechner says to pay attention to things that make you cry, and there were a bunch of those this week. 

For example, today a middle schooler wrote an essay about the assassination of the president of Haiti this summer. She described exactly how he died, because it was reported in minute detail in the news. She said it was the worst way of dying she had ever heard of, and she's not wrong. I wish she didn't know all those specifics. I wish I didn't know them. She ended with a list of things the people who didn't like the president could have done instead, if they weren't happy with him. One of them was that they could have sent him an email.

How do you even respond to this? I really don't know. I told her that her piece was hard to read because the true things she wrote are so painful. But, I said, she had done a good job. I fixed her spelling. 

Here's Billy Collins writing about a teacher who tried to tone things down for his students. It wasn't very effective. I find myself wanting to protect my kids from the world, but it's really not possible, is it?

The History Teacher

by Billy Collins

Trying to protect his students' innocence

he told them the Ice Age was really just

the Chilly Age, a period of a million years 

when everyone had to wear sweaters.

And the Stone Age became the Gravel Age,

named after the long driveways of the time.

The Spanish Inquisition was nothing more

than an outbreak of questions such as

"How far is it from here to Madrid?"

"What do you call the matador's hat?"

The War of the Roses took place in a garden,

and the Enola Gay dropped one tiny atom

on Japan.

The children would leave his classroom

for the playground to torment the weak

and the smart,

mussing up their hair and breaking their glasses,

while he gathered up his notes and walked home

past flower beds and white picket fences,

wondering if they would believe that soldiers

in the Boer War told long, rambling stories

designed to make the enemy nod off.

Denise has the roundup today. Happy First Roundup, Denise!

Slice of Life Tuesday: Feather Mug

 Starting the morning

with tea in my feather mug

searching for lightness

Poetry Friday: Sonnet 73

It seems like a day for a classic, a poem people have been reading for 400 years. 

 

TLDR: Yeah, everything and everyone you love will go away, but that's all the more reason to love well while you can. 

 

Love well today, poetry friends! And here's the roundup.

Sonnet 73

William Shakespeare

 

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

 

Slice of Life Tuesday: Another Birding Milestone!

On December 8th I posted about my 92nd day of my eBird checklist streak, meaning that I had posted at least one birding checklist on eBird.com per day for the preceding 92 days. I was pretty pleased with myself, and I'm even more so today, on the 365th day of my checklist streak. 

 

A whole year of daily birding! So many beautiful birds, so many heart-lifting moments! And I have to admit, there's also a lot of pleasure in watching the numbers mount: species, lifers, days in a row. I'm competing purely with myself; eBird shows me that I am now the 89,522nd eBirder in the world in terms of how many species I've seen. And 19,881st for number of checklists. So, not exactly a leading light. But if they could measure how much I enjoy it, I'd be a lot higher on the list.  

You can read everyone else's slices here.

Poetry Friday: Something

Something Told the Wild Geese

by Rachel Field

 

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered,—‘Snow.’
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned,—‘Frost.’
All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,—
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.

 

It's almost time for the migratory birds to start arriving here in Haiti!  That mysterious "something" is getting ready to send them south! 

 

If you'd like to contribute to earthquake relief in Haiti, I posted some suggestions here. 

The inimitable Heidi has today's roundup.

Spiritual Journey Thursday: Not All Virtues are Cheerful

This month's host, Karen, has invited us to reflect on virtues. She sent us a list of them and asked us to choose from the list or write about another virtue. 

 

Last week my church group talked about the second of the Beatitudes, "Blessed are those who mourn." It was encouraging because I have been mourning lately for many reasons. It doesn't feel blessed to mourn. It feels cursed sometimes. Mourning isn't on the list of virtues, but Empathy is. Feeling the pain of others is not a comfortable experience, but it is a virtuous one. Sincerity is also on the list, as are Authenticity and Honesty. In times of mourning, we should aim for joy, but not for fake cheeriness. 

 

When I read the book of Psalms, I see a true presentation of emotions that are not all positive. It's OK to express those emotions to God. In Psalm 69, David wrote: 

 "Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me. I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God. More in number than the hairs of my head are those who hate me without cause; mighty are those who would destroy me, those who attack me with lies. ... But as for me, my prayer is to you, O Lord. At an acceptable time, O God, in the abundance of your steadfast love answer me in your saving faithfulness. Deliver me from sinking in the mire; let me be delivered from my enemies and from the deep waters. Let not the flood sweep over me, or the deep swallow me up, or the pit close its mouth over me. Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good, according to your abundant mercy, turn to me. Hide not your face from your servant; for I am in distress; make haste to answer me." 

(And that's all before he gets to the imprecatory part, where he's asking God to make life difficult for the people who have wronged him. Yep, that's in the Bible too. Again, he doesn't have a problem telling God what he's really feeling.) 

 

Here's to the virtues that hold on when times are tough. Here's to Patience and Tenacity and Fortitude. Here's to keeping on asking God for help, continuing to trust. Here's to climbing, muddy and exhausted, out of the mire, sometime really really soon. 

Slice of Life Tuesday: Flower Haiku

Cotton candy pink
Petals massed in crowds of joy:
Morning cheerleaders

Here are all the other slices from today.

Reading Update

I still haven't finished reporting on all my summer reading, and now I'm back to work, and have a lot less time to read. The reading I do have time for, though, is an essential to my days. I'm so thankful for books, and for the ability to focus on them and read them, learn and grow from them, relax into them. Reading is a pleasure and a necessity to me. 

Book #66 of this year was Other Words for Home, by Jasmine Warga, a verse novel about a middle schooler who is a refugee from Syria. There's a lot of complexity in this story, which explores different ways to be brave in the middle of so much turmoil. It means different things for Jude, starting school in a new country, and her brother, left behind in Syria, and her mom, adjusting to a new life too, and waiting to give birth. I appreciated the glimpse at what it's like to be a Muslim in the US, too. This is such a timely story, and could help create some empathy in its readers. 

Book #67 was a reread, Turn My Mourning Into Dancing: Finding Hope in Hard Times, by Henri Nouwen. I'm sure it won't be the last time I'll read it! "Hope does not mean," Nouwen writes, "that we will avoid or be able to ignore suffering, of course. Indeed, hope born of faith becomes matured and purified through difficulty. The surprise we experience in hope, then, is not that, unexpectedly, things turn out better than expected. For even when they do not, we can still live with a keen hope. The basis of our hope has to do with the One who is stronger than life and suffering. Faith opens us up to God's sustaining, healing presence. A person in difficulty can trust because of a belief that something else is possible. To trust is to allow for hope."

 

Book #68 was my first by Preston Sprinkle, but I have a feeling it won't be my last. The book was Charis: God's Scandalous Grace for Us. "Peter's denial of Jesus isn't the end of their relationship. It's only the beginning. Because Peter's commitment to Jesus isn't sustained by Peter. Peter remains committed to Jesus because Jesus is steadily committed to Peter. Just before Peter denies his Lord, Jesus promises to never let him go: 'I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail' (Luke 22:32). If it weren't for Grace, Peter would be finished. The same is true for you."

 

Book #69 was 3 Willows: The Sisterhood Grows, by Ann Brashares. This story takes place in the same universe as the Traveling Pants books; the girls in the story know the Pants girls as older, almost legendary former attendees of their school. One character is a younger sister of one of those girls. I'm sure it says something about me that I love these tales of friendships that last through everything. Certainly it reflects the coming and going of people to and from my own life, and my longing for relationships to last. Here's a quote from this one, about a character traveling down a cliff in a harness and holding a rope: "Away from the group Ama made a jump of pure joy. It was an unprecedented joy, full of opposing properties and opposing parts that for Ama, in that moment, fit together effortlessly: the joy of leaning back, the joy of letting go, the joy of her feet sticking, the joy of pulling them off the rock, the joy of hanging, the joy of not falling, the joy of the past and of the future, the joy of the sky and the mountains and the valley, the joy of having made it, and the joy of not having to do it again."  

 

Book #70 was Pegasus, by Robin McKinley. I really enjoyed this book, and found it absorbing. But I was disappointed that not much was resolved at the end, and there's no sequel. In Lady Sylviianel's world, a princess like her (even if only the fourth child) gets a Pegasus. There is some kind of bond expected between the human and the Pegasus, but for most it is just a formal, symbolic relationship. But it turns out that for Sylvi and her Pegasus, Ebon, the bond goes deeper, and their communication is both a delight to both of them and a threat to the establishment. Robin McKinley, write a sequel, OK? 

 

Book #71 was Jhumpa Lahiri's latest book, Whereabouts, which she wrote in Italian and then translated into English. (I wrote more about her relationship with Italian here.) I feel about Jhumpa Lahiri a little bit similarly to how I feel about A.S. Byatt: I think it's amazing that their books get more and more experimental and that their art is breaking barriers, but at the same time I have to admit (a bit sheepishly) that I prefer their more traditional novels.  Lahiri's The Namesake is one of my favorite novels of all time. I am in awe of Lahiri working in Italian, though, and I think she's incredible in every way. And I did like this book.

Poetry Friday: An Actual Suffering

In 2014, Haiti got hit with the Chikungunya virus, which caused a lot of pain and suffering here before just about everyone had had it. It didn't kill, but it did hurt, at the time and for months and months after. And one thing that we noticed was that it seemed to affect older people worse, and especially older people who had hurt themselves a lot before. If you'd broken bones previously, those parts hurt the most. It was like a reminder of all your past pain. (I wrote about this at the time here.)

 

Trauma works that way, too. Sometimes when you see people in the news because of some enormous crisis, that's not the first time they are going through difficulties. I think about that when I read about Afghanistan's current woes; those people have already been through a lot, both in history and in living memory. And the same is true here in Haiti. 

I was talking to a long-time friend the other day and she commented, "You don't get to be our age without having some pain," and boy, is that true. (But we're also both blessed enough to have experienced many joyful moments, too. I'm not sure that's true of everyone.)

Then I read that my friend Emily Dickinson said this about it all:

They say that "time assuages," -

Time never did assuage;

An actual suffering strengthens,

As sinews do, with age.

 

Time is a test of trouble,

But not a remedy.

If such it prove, it prove too

There was no malady. 

Emily Dickinson

I guess my point is just that we need to be careful with each other, because we're all going through a lot these days. Sometimes a small thing will set someone (adult or kid) off, and you may not see all that led to that moment. It's worth responding with grace anyway.

And also, for those people far away from us who are in crisis, we can help make things a little easier. In my Poetry Friday post last week, I suggested some places you might like to donate if you're interested in helping with earthquake relief in Haiti.  

Today's roundup is here.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Kingbirds

Yesterday morning I was on my way to a meeting, looking up as always just in case I could spy some birds. Suddenly I saw, on a wire just on the other side of the wall that surrounds our campus, not one, not two, but four Gray Kingbirds. 

Times have been rough lately here in Haiti. In addition to the stuff that's in the news (earthquake, tropical storm, assassination of the president, political impasse, to name a few), there have been some challenges in my own life too. But there's nothing like the lift a beautiful bird gives me. (See the photo below, borrowed from FocusingOnWildlife.com.)

Source: https://focusingonwildlife.com/news/galleries/small-landbirds/gray-kingbird-tyrannus-dominicensis/

Seeing these birds reminded me that this past summer in the US, I saw their cousins, the Eastern Kingbird and the Western Kingbird, or what I thought of as a matched set of kingbirds. I saw the Eastern for the first time in Kentucky, on a day in June when the news in Haiti reported 102 new cases of COVID, plus street demonstrations demanding that kidnappers release yet another victim. It's an elegant bird, with a lovely white edging to its tail. (See photo below.) Then I saw the Westerns, a pair of them, at a rest stop in South Dakota. That was the day in July when we had woken in a motel room to the news of the assassination. First I heard them, and when I located the source of the sound, I saw the birds flying together in a kind of synchronized dance. They had a similar head shape to the others, but these have some yellow on them. (See photo below.)

Eastern Kingbird, source, eBird.com

Western Kingbird, source, eBird.com

Wordsworth wrote, "My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky." In college I learned that the poem is about perception and memory, and I'm sure it is, but it's also about how something beautiful, and beyond yourself, can give you a moment of joy on a sad day. My heart leaps up when I behold a kingbird. 

You can read other people's slices for today here.

Poetry Friday: Earthquake Vocabulary

(If you're here looking for suggestions on how and where to donate to Haitian earthquake relief, scroll down to the end of the post.) 

 

My family and I experienced the 2010 earthquake in Haiti. For eleven years, my life has been divided into "before the earthquake" and "after the earthquake." For example, it was after the earthquake that I started sharing my poetry here on my blog. It seemed the least I could do when friends in Haiti were doing so much to help with relief, and I was in the States with my kids. 

 

Well, now there is a new earthquake in my life. This one didn't happen in our city, like the one in 2010. Last Saturday morning, when the shaking sent my husband and me running out of our house, we thought it was just a small earthquake, though an intense one. We stood in front of our house, where eleven years ago I had felt the earth shake while holding on to my seventh grade daughter's hand and repeating again and again, "It's OK, it's OK." We watched the hummingbird feeder swing back and forth, leading us to remark that even though the hummingbirds have never shown any interest in that feeder, maybe it can have a new life as an earthquake indicator. Then we went back inside.

I checked the USGS website, which used to be open on my desktop at all times, right away. I was shocked to learn that the earthquake we had felt had been a 7.0 (later they updated that to 7.2). That's when we realized that it had happened a long way away, on the southern peninsula of Haiti. And gradually over the next couple of days we learned more about the sickening results of the quake. On Thursday I read these statistics in Le Nouvelliste, the main newspaper of Port-au-Prince: 2,189 are dead and 12,268 injured. There are 30,122 houses destroyed and 42,737 damaged. One hundred and twenty-seven schools, 60 places of worship, and 25 health facilities are destroyed or damaged. An estimated 650,000 people need aid urgently. And around 615 houses were flooded by Tropical Depression/Storm Grace. 

 

Here's a poem I wrote in April 2010. We're feeling its reality once again. 

 

Earthquake Vocabulary

Here are some words I’d rather you not use metaphorically:
seismic,
Richter scale,
epicenter.

Here are some words I used before but shouldn’t have:
devastating,
catastrophe,
disaster.

Here are some words I used to know:
permanent,
stable,
solid.

Here’s a word I thought I knew but really didn’t:
earthquake.

by Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com

 

I was honored to have one of my photos featured on Margaret's This Photo Wants to be a Poem this week. Head over and see what people did with the image, which I've pasted below. 

 

 

If you can, please do donate to the relief in Haiti. While this earthquake didn't affect as many people as the one in Port-au-Prince in 2010, there are unique challenges. These communities are remote and difficult to access at the best of times, and these are far from the best of times. Haiti's government is in disarray after two years of political crisis, and the assassination just over a month ago of the president. There is unrest and violence between where I live in the capital city and where the earthquake happened in the south. Plus, oh yeah, there's a pandemic, and Haiti just received vaccinations for the first time in June; very few people have yet been vaccinated. If it sounds like an impossible situation, it feels that way to me too.

Since people have been asking, I've been recommending some organizations that were on the spot immediately helping. Some are faith-based and some are not.

HERO is an amazing organization. They provide ambulance and EMT service on a subscription basis. People who can afford it buy memberships, and those funds support the work HERO does responding to car accidents and other emergencies. So they are able to help people who can't afford care. This is such a simple and brilliant system. We have been members for a while and can't recommend them highly enough. They were on the ground right away rescuing people and they still are. They are working with the US Coast Guard. 

 

MAF has a long-term presence in Haiti. They have small planes, great pilots, and lots of experience with disasters, and they were flying in supplies right away, both after the 2010 earthquake and after this one. They are also taking doctors from Port-au-Prince who would have a hard time getting to the south by road.

Hôpital Lumière in Bonne Fin was damaged in the quake, but they continue to give care. There's a drop-down menu at that link where you can choose to send your donation straight to the hospital.

 

Partners in Health (Zanmi Lasante) is Paul Farmer's organization. They have a proven track record of the POP (Preferential Option for the Poor). They have already been doing great work with COVID and now are responding to this disaster.

A friend who has worked on the island a long time suggested this physical therapy center. It's called Fondation Tous Ensemble and my friend writes: "As long as I've known her, 10 years or so, my wonderful friend Consuelo Alzamora has been running Fondation Tous Ensemble, the only physical therapy clinic in SW Haiti, on a shoestring budget. I have no idea how they pull it off, but she and her team help people heal and deal after every kind of injury, strokes and so on. If you have ever had PT, then you know how vital it is to healthy recovery. In the wake of the 14 August earthquake, she and her team is OK, but the clinic and most of her team's houses are damaged. Right now her team is scrambling to do all they can to help treat the many many injured by the quake. The demands will only increase in the months ahead. If you are looking for a worthy place to donate in Haiti, look no further. Your donation can make a big difference. Please give generously, if you can. Last I checked, their donations page had not been updated after the quake. They are just too busy." 

The Salvation Army is very active in Haiti and this organization is at its best in a disaster. 

 

Friends for Health in Haiti works in the mountains above Jeremie. 

These are just a few organizations I or trusted friends can personally vouch for. You don't have to use my list. There are many lists available online. Please find an organization whose values you approve and send them a few dollars if you are able.

The Poetry Friday roundup is here.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Back to School

It's not time for Haitian schools to be back in session, but our international school here in Haiti goes by the US calendar, and we started back yesterday.

 

This is a time of grief and mourning in this country. On Saturday there was a huge earthquake in the south, and Monday evening the death toll was up to 1419. Plus there are thousands injured, and thousands of homes destroyed, with even more damaged. Just like after the earthquake in Port-au-Prince in 2010, thousands of people are sleeping outside, either because their homes are not safe or because they just don't want to be under a roof after seeing so many roofs collapsed. And now Tropical Depression Grace is making sleeping outdoors difficult with wind and rain. Four to eight inches of rain are forecast, as well as possible mudslides. 

It was encouraging to see our students' faces again (at least the part not covered by a mask), and normal is good in a time like this. We'll take as much normal as we can get.

Yes, We Felt It!

The USGS website called Did You Feel It? used to be open all the time on my laptop. I would refresh it again and again as I obsessively watched earthquakes and aftershocks. I haven't done that in a while but this afternoon I'm doing it again after Haiti was hit by another huge earthquake this morning. 

The epicenter was a long way from us this time, on the southern peninsula of the country, and so is the damage and the loss of life. But we did feel this earthquake, and we know Haiti will continue to feel the aftershocks, both literal and metaphorical, for a long time. We are all right, but we are grieving the suffering and loss in this country we love.

Poetry Friday: Stuck With You

 

Every year on my wedding anniversary, I post this song on Facebook. We're back now to the two of us, the originals, as our kids have moved away, one to adult life and one to college. Maybe I'll be able to write about that departure sometime, but not yet. I'm happy to be stuck with my husband still, after all these years; as the song says, "We are bound by all the rest, the same phone number, all the same friends, and the same address." Well, we don't have the same phone number any more, as we each have a cellphone. But the rest remains.

This week's roundup is here.

Reading Update

Book #53 of 2021 was His Last Duchess, by Gabrielle Kimm. I was interested in this book because of the title, since it made me think of the Robert Browning poetic monologue, "My Last Duchess." Sure enough, that's what the book is about. But instead of Browning's subtle treatment, we get a lurid bodice-ripper. I did enjoy learning about the art techniques of the time; I didn't check it out but I assume the author's descriptions of the creation of frescoes are accurate. 

Book #54 was Olympus, Texas, by Stacey Swann. I have a weakness for retelling of Greek and Roman myths, and this one is in that category. In this book, the pantheon of Olympus is transformed into a dysfunctional family in Olympus, Texas. Imagine the behavior of Zeus, Hera, et al playing out in a small southern town! Pretty explosive stuff. 

Book #55 was John Green's collection of essays, The Anthropocene Reviewed. My son introduced me to the podcast of the same name, and we often listened to it together while he was still living at home. The book has a lot of the podcast episodes in it, but also some new material. I could hear Green's voice in my head as I was reading. He has a lovely, emotional prose style, and I enjoyed reading his takes on many aspects of current life. 

 

Book #56 was That's Not What Happened, by Kody Keplinger. After a school shooting in a small town, there's a narrative that has emerged. Everyone knows it and everyone believes it. But Lee, one of six survivors struggling with the arrival of the third anniversary of the event, knows another truth, and she thinks it's time everyone else knew it too. But she finds that the way everyone else thinks it happened has become too important to challenge. 

 

Book #57 was If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period, by Gennifer Choldenko, who wrote the book Al Capone Does My Shirts, which I read in 2007 and loved (the link is to my review).  I didn't love this one. The characters seemed quite stereotypical and I wasn't convinced by the over-the-top drama of the plot.

 

Book #58 was Why Fish Don't Exist: A Story of Loss, Love, and the Hidden Order of Life, by Lulu Miller. This is about Miller's obsession with the story of David Starr Jordan, a taxonomist and the first president of Stanford. She thinks she will get insights from his story for dealing with her own life, which has been messed up in various ways, many of them caused by her own behavior. She interweaves her own story with what she's learning about Jordan and about taxonomy. The main thing I took from this book is that the way we categorize things is only one way to do it; there could be many others. I had heard a bit of this idea before in reference to Linnaeus, another man whose categorizing of living beings has deeply affected the way we see the world. The title refers to the idea that fish don't really have enough in common to be a category. There's a lot of fascinating information in this book, including a great deal about eugenics, which Jordan turns out to have been crazy about. There's also some haunting description of the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906. Oh, and an unsolved murder (?) mystery. The book reads like a very long podcast, and I thought it was well-written. It was interesting to explore the history of Miller's learning about her topic, and the ideas are thought-provoking. I wasn't entirely sure why what she learned about Jordan helped her in her own situation, but it's always mysterious how these things happen. I'm not sure whether to recommend this or not; it's strange, but I learned a few things I'm glad to know.

Book #59 was The Wife Upstairs, by Rachel Hawkins, a retelling of the Jane Eyre story. I found it completely unbelievable, even more so than the original. 

Book #60 was a reread, Pillars, by Rachel Pieh Jones.  This time I read it to my husband, who also liked it. The link is to my review when I first read it.

Book #61 was On Immunity, by Eula Biss. This book on vaccination was published in 2014, but it is of course incredibly timely right now. I found it interesting, as the writer took her thinking in several directions that were new to me. However, I have not read very much about the topic, so others may not find her ideas as new. Here's a taste: "'Antibiotics, vaccines, they're both like time travel,' a friend wrote me that spring. 'You go back in time and you're able to prevent a catastrophe, but who knows how you have irrevocably altered the future? I love my babies, and I go back in time (vaccinate) in order to prevent the catastrophe I can see, but then I risk the catastrophe I can't see.' This was my friend who writes science fiction poetry, of course. And I knew what she meant. ... Every day with a child, I have discovered, is a kind of time travel. I cast my mind ahead with each decision I make, wondering what I might be giving or taking from my child in the future. I send him off to preschool, where he learns about germs and rules, wondering all the time who he might have been if he had not learned to wash his hands and stand in line as soon as he could talk. But even when I do nothing, I am aware that I am irrevocably changing the future. Time marches forward in a course that is forever altered by the fact that I did nothing." 

 

Book #62 was a reread, As Soon As I Fell: A Memoir, by Kay Bruner, which I read, but did not review, back in 2015.  Bruner tells the story of a crisis in her marriage, and how she responded to it. Since she was a missionary at the time, her response was complicated by what the mission organization did. All of this led to a radical transformation of the way Bruner saw the world, and, especially, God and how He works in human lives. When was God there for her? All along. Was He waiting for her to pick herself up and fix her life and her marriage? No! He was there all along. As soon as she fell. This is a very good book and I recommend it.

 

Book #63 was A World on the Wing: The Global Odyssey of Migratory Birds, by Scott Weidensaul. This was so good. I wanted to read it again right away as soon as I finished it (but I didn't, because I had so many other books checked out from the library that I had to read before they vanished from my Kindle). Reading it was like hanging out with birders, which is so fun because they invariably have so many interesting stories to tell (at least the birders I've met - perhaps I have just been fortunate). There is a lot about habitat loss and the way birds struggle due to climate change and other issues, but it's also just amazing to read about the variety that exists among birds, the way they adapt to changing situations, and the obsessive ways humans work to fix the problems - and surprisingly successfully! I loved the writing, too. I would like to share some of it, but unfortunately the book has vanished from my Kindle. 

 

Book #64 was Dakota: A Spiritual Biography, by Kathleen Norris. I visited South Dakota this summer for the first time, and I was fascinated to read this study of life in small towns in this world of huge distances and deprivation (relative to the mainstream US way of life). I don't know how true this book is now; it was published in 2001. I enjoyed it, as I have all the Norris I have read before. And I started thinking about how the places I have lived have affected my spiritual life. 

 

Book #65 was Celine, by Peter Heller. I didn't love this as much as the other Peter Heller books I've read so far (I wrote about them here). Celine is a charming character but not very believable as a detective. Many of her conclusions come purely from her intuition, in a kind of magical-realist way. It also didn't have as many birds in it as Heller's other books. (Full disclosure: I also tried Heller's novel The Painter and didn't even like it well enough to finish it.) I think I will try some more Heller, because I did like the first two I read so very much.

Spiritual Journey Thursday and Poetry Friday: Difficult Blessings

Hi friends! I didn't intend to take a break from my blog, but it looks as though I did indeed take one. I needed it, just a little bit of extra bandwidth to help me cope with the events of this summer, some expected, like saying goodbye to my younger child and dealing with the beginning stages of a transition to an empty nest, and some unexpected, like reading, in a Midwestern motel room, about the assassination of Haiti's president in an incredibly bloody and brutal attack on his home in the early hours of July 7th. Of course there were lots of other events this summer, easy and difficult, relaxing and stressful, soothing and painful. That's how life is. 

Today I'm attempting to ease back into blogging by combining today's SJT and tomorrow's PF post into one. It's part of my effort to be kind to myself, as I re-adjust to Haiti; we flew back yesterday, and arrived intact but without our luggage. It's a relatively short journey, as international odysseys go; we got up at three and my dad drove us to the airport in the dark, with a fingernail moon watching us from overhead. Three flights later, we were in our home and drinking some cold water by about 2:30 PM. (And that's after dealing with the missing luggage with a gentleman at the airport.) You can get here quickly, but then it takes your soul a while to catch up, at least it does for my soul, slightly battered as it is. I've been taking it slowly this morning, adding up all my birding miles and lifers from the summer, listening to music, drinking good strong tea. 

Haiti looks the same as when we left it, at least the parts we've seen so far. We got in a traffic jam on the way home because dozens of cars were in line at a gas station, waiting to buy gas (maybe they succeeded, and maybe they didn't).  We don't have enough gas in our car to drive back to the airport to pick up my suitcase (no, they're not going to deliver it). They're selling plastic bottles of gas on the street again, just like they were when we first moved here, during the international embargo on Haiti, in 1993. We've had a few very tough years here, and there's likely more to come in the aftermath of this latest crisis. The investigation is ongoing, the international community is urging elections, the security situation is scary. What will happen? We have no idea. It feels discouraging in a way beyond all we've seen before in our two decades plus in this beautiful, troubled country. 

I am a big fan of Jan Richardson, and her book The Cure for Sorrow is one I've read several times. I love her format of blessings, and though she wrote them after losing her husband and while entering widowhood, they are appropriate in many different kinds of grief, including grief for a wounded country, grief for a new stage of life, grief for so many things in this broken and damaged world. Jan posted the following poem on social media recently, and I share it with you hoping that it will accompany you in your own difficult blessings.

 

 

Jacob's Blessing

Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. - Genesis 32:24

 

If this blessing were easy,

anyone could claim it.

As it is,

I am here to tell you

that it will take some work. 

This is the blessing

that visits you

in the struggling,

in the wrestling,

in the striving.

This is the blessing

that comes

after you have left

everything behind,

after you have stepped out,

after you have crossed

into that realm

beyond every landmark

you have known.

This is the blessing

that takes all night

to find.

It's not that this blessing

is so difficult,

as if it were not filled

with grace

or with the love

that lives

in every line.

It's simply that 

it requires you

to want it,

to ask for it,

to place yourself 

in its path.

It demands that you

stand to meet it

when it arrives,

that you stretch yourself

in ways you didn't know

you could move,

that you agree

to not give up.

So when this blessing comes,

borne in the hands 

of the difficult angel

who has chosen you,

do not let go.

Give yourself

into its grip.

 

Jan Richardson

 

Check out the other entries in today's SJT here at Linda Mitchell's blog. And today's Poetry Friday roundup is here.

Spiritual Journey Thursday: Summer and Birds

Carol Varsalona, who's hosting today, has invited us to reflect on the topic "Nurturing Our Summer Souls."  

 

 

 

This summer has brought several reasons, some unexpected, for stress and anxiety. Nurturing my summer soul hasn't come quite as naturally as I had hoped. But one thing I have been doing daily is looking at birds, and somehow that always makes me feel better. 

 

I always appreciated Jesus' bird-themed words in Matthew 6:

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?"

The birds aren't just sitting around waiting for their food to come to them. They are in constant, earnest pursuit of nourishment. But they seem peaceful to us, perhaps because they can fly, or perhaps, as a birding friend put it, because they are outside of the sphere of the things that bring us stress, and we can attach any story to them that we wish. 

Even though I always enjoyed reflecting on the ways the birds' behavior comments on human anxiety, it's only been in the last two or three years that I have started to find "considering the birds," as Jesus put it (or "Look at the birds of the air," in the version I quoted above), to be a prescription for anxiety, as effective on the best days as therapy or medication. Maybe it's as simple as turning my eyes away from my own concerns, but lately the words of Jesus cycle through my mind again and again as I focus my binoculars: "Do not worry about your life....Look at the birds of the air." 

Check out what everyone else has to say for today's SJT over at Carol's blog.