From a distance We were just specks Meaningless “No account”
Quiet From where they stood.
Perspective Is a strange partner It’s message moving one Into dissonance
Our rhythm The organized explosion Exact Trained From untold centuries A single tip of the wing Moving the entirety
Blustered wind Roared past our feathered ear Thunder Created by the masses
It’s all a choreographed dance And we are perfect At its execution Sheer numbers call to predators And all other inhabitants “We are here, we are many And tonight, This is where we will sleep”
In 2011 I started making multiple exposure impressions that included the dreaded European Starling. They are hated because they are not indigenous and displace other songbirds. But to watch a murmuration is to witness nature at its finest. There is just nothing else like it.
Teleconference the specifics Meet with the folks that make the checks Review the schedule If we do this, We can erase the next eight months of our lives Are you ready for that?
Of course. Just let me re-crunch The numbers… Dollars with wings.
Hey, I woke up this morning Thinking about the thing. You know The thing That will keep us up at night?
Good. We’re on the same page. I hope you can run fast. This moving train isn’t going to wait for you. It’ll either wear you out Or cut you in half But you can’t go ’til I say go.
Such is the life in construction. “Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it.” When my work day is over…I’ll just mosey on down to the rusty buckwheat fields. Watch the bees and really learn something.
Should have seen the signs Red sky and hovering lake Ravenous blackbirds flocked Frenzied Like the shark That smells blood
Busy the mind Chained hands to the task Away My only friend Long was the journey
Absence is a liar It’s testing More resilient Than any heart Strength of character Thrown away Into empty wind
Promises Even are more empty
Only time and effort Will erase the disaster Of neglect
Not sure why this ekphrastic brought me here. When I was younger, being a journeyman meant exactly that. I had to journey away from my family for extended periods to work my trade. It took a toll on on them and it seemed at times I had completely failed them. Some of my other jobs took me away on the weekends playing music. So even though I was at home every night, I was not available. It was during this time that I realized that words and promises are meaningless. Only the doing can make things right. Some memories cannot be erased. They become part of the fabric of your family history. “What kind of memory am I building?”