DIPPER at Ice Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness [ click photo for next . . . ]
On the road in the American Northwest.
SPIRIT THRUSH—a long-line sonnet
Poor Francis made two great mistakes: after stripping naked
In the open air of the public square, liberating himself from
Patriarcal dominion, he then sought false refuge under
The corrupt Cardinal's cloak; Then there was this mistaken
Sermon to the birds. Poverty is simplicity is wealth, yes,
Is listening. But witness the Spirit Thrush. Unlike the
So boastful Robin, we never see him, still, we are enchanted
By his space: dark evergreen, cold, clear-flowing water.
Nothing in excess, his music floats like a morning mist
Over an alpine lake. When song is mostly silence, we guess
That angels are near. But with two tones in perfect mistuned
Unison, we can be sure of the divine. Poor Francis was right. Yes,
The world is our family: brother Sun, sister Moon. But this sound
From another space:—far beyond the line we draw around Time.
[This poem is named for, and dedicated to the Naked Poetry
artist among avian maestros, the Varied Thrush (Ixoreus naevius).
I call them "Spirit Thrushes" for the etherial quality of their music,
made all the more so by the fact that they are rarely seen.]
WATCH: Varied thrush (Ixoreus naevius) song http://bit.ly/ZrzCh8
They sing two slightly 'mistuned' unisons.
A kind of frequency modulation
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All Photographs & texts by Cliff Crego © 1999-2012 picture-poems.com