Time is a Magpie
and hope a baby bird
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Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
At dawn a skein of Geese flies through the valley. Each a stitch in the V they embroider upon the sky. Each body made orange-pink by the rising of that most beloved star. I see the point Bird at the head of the flock tire and fall back into the updraft, as another Goose takes their place to break trail through the bright and bitter morning air—a most ordinary and miraculous display of humility and wisdom.