Jun 12 • 2M
A conversation with a snipe
We Are All A Part. Writing and recordings about nature, existence, and wildness.
It happened when the grass was flowering: pale puffs of dust, appearing with a breeze, or even from a tiny beetle landing on a stem. Just enough to send life outward. Snipe stood on a log that morning, just watching. I thought about the sound he makes as he flies all night and he watched me, and I watched him, and as usual, the sun rose. The good from bad, it seems the thoughts, or feelings are of different weights. Tossing them to the wind what blows away from me are good feelings. What falls to the earth are the bad thoughts. Which seem to pile up. But what is good, or bad, to a snipe? Or to a tiny granule of contained life sent forth by a beetle's landing or the hum of a flies wing? Snipe stands on one leg and scratches his head, watches me, pollen, trees, beetles, sunrise, and as always things I can't yet see. What do you see snipe? What does the winnowing sound of your night flights mean? Why this morning do you stop, on a log, to watch me? Have your eggs hatched? Do you know if your nestlings will have a marshy home? Or are such thoughts beyond you? You must be just a piece of life itself. Not good, not bad, but beautiful fully real, and peaceful. Your silent morning log watch and scratch, your handsome, calm brown eyes are a gift to me.