Texture Tuesday ... storm


For those of us who are not there
we watch the news,
we listen.
We try not to worry ... too much.

Many will write about this one in the days to come.
There will be expressions of this event that go far beyond what I am capable of here ...
why, the mere thought of all the animals
and my throat closes.
I have a very hard time thinking about them, their helplessness.
Where will they go ... how will they manage.

Like a gift, 
Maya Stein's poem, her weekly offering for 10-Line Tuesday,  arrived in my mailbox filled with balm.

: : :

the geese in the mudhole

We drove by them yesterday, three hours before the storm made landfall.
They were bobbing in a lopsided circle in the shallow water, like teens
at a square dance waiting for instructions. In the car, sleeping bags, flashlights,
and a mounting urgency to find elusive safety. The trees looked reckless,
power lines dripping and swaying like my uncle's heart rate the week
before he died. Two days ago, I watched a woman feed them from a bag
of ripped-up bread, and thought about the nuisance they were, mucking the park
with their wattle and filth. Now, I envy their animal certainty, this buoyant grace
that shrinks from me each passing hour as I bend a nervous ear to the news,
while they lilt and flutter with each wave, admiring the views.

: : :

Thank you to Kim Klassen for her texture, sonnet magic,
which I applied over an iPhone shot & altered with apps.
To view more images from the group, they're HERE.


  1. Is Maya right about
    animal certainty
    buoyant grace
    admiring the views
    I want to think
    it's like that
    at least for the birds
    but my throat closes
    when I read your post
    I don't want to think
    about the animals
    the dogs and cats
    even the mice

    1. I sometimes say things here that are difficult for others to read. Since deciding long ago that this blog was being written for me ~ as a way to keep a permanent journal ~ I say what I must. I hold to Barbara Kingsolver's advice: “Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It’s the one and only thing you have to offer.”

      Perilous things happen to animals while humankind is focused on their own. I do take comfort in believing that animals are not thinking it through as we would...with dread & foreboding...they are just being and surviving and watching the views change.

    2. Yes, Barbara got it right about the one and only thing each of us has to offer. Your permanent journal is a gift to me, all of it, the sad and the glad. Thank you.

      Life is perilous for most animals, hopefully, as you say, without dread and foreboding most of the time. I could go on a rant about my perceptions of mankind's role as conservators of the animals' environment... but, lucky you, I won't.

  2. c'est notre train de vie qui nous est retourné par la nature qui se révolte!
    et les animaux aussi souffrent..et pourtant ..il ne sont pas fautifs..

    1. Je suis d'accord!
      Merci, je suis heureux que vous ayez passé.

  3. tears.....lots of tears

    thank you for this post

  4. My son lives in NYC...but fortunately where he lives did not get any flooding.. and he now has power and is well and safe... but the images on TV are devastating and the stories are heartbreaking. the poem is so spot on.

  5. Our local newspaper is full of devastating images. Glad you are safe, Sweatpea. It always amazes me how animals know before we do that bad weather is coming. When my bird tables are all a flutter with triple the birdlife we are used to we know the bad weather is on its way. They come to fuel and prepare for what's ahead. We top up the bird food as it empties hoping it will be enough. Before the first clap of thunder there is absolute silence... not a bird chirp or a monkey screech. It's quite disconcerting.