I still haven’t made my bed, none of the pillows have cases, the sheets are tossed about on the floor, at the foot of the bed., and the comforter acts more like a body pillow than a cover.
Rain, hail and tornados are roaming the flat space that is Kansas this evening.
One of my fur-babies brought a lifeless bird inside their doggy door(really, it’s just a hole I cut out of the metal door which leads to the backyard, but doggy door sounds more refined).
The limp, water logged creature looked sickly, aside from lacking pitter-patter of its heart–I’ll never know if one of my pups took the poor baby’s life.
I think of Robert Burns’ To A Mouse
All I know is that if it had been struggling, the struggle was now over.
She was surely a baby; no feathers to be seen. Pink skinned and yellow beaked: she was a darling little thing.
She was, beyond a doubt,
But I’m living and feel–
And I’m wondering,
About what matters.
“Fallen Bird” c. 1998. Graphite on paper 8” x 10” Courtesy of the artist, Zionville, North Carolina. “