I had not be filling my birdbaths as much since

we filled the pond which is very popular with the

small birds. However within a few minutes of

cleaning it out a magpie had bathed and was

primping in the tree.

 

" Whose voices carry on the wind: they send

their rambling dactyls through the morning air

with the dark fret-and-flutter of wings,

a cry feathered between syllables,"

Bedrock

                    David Solway

"Sometimes I have the feeling that words lead a

private existence of their own, apart from us,

and that when we speak or write,

especially in moments of strong emotion,

we do little more than hitch a ride on some

obliging syllable or accommodating phrase. "

Poetry as Isotope:

The Hidden Life of Words

           Eric Ormsby