From the outside in daylight my
large front porch windows are
nearly as reflective as mirrors.
Birds often mistake them for
open space fly zones.

Today I watched in horror as a
stalwart resolute Towhee fell for
the visual illusion, flying full tilt
into the window, impacting,
bouncing recoiling, reversing
and then trying it yet again!

The second impact bounced him
out onto the lawn, where he laid
stunned, feet pointing to the sky
for perhaps a minute.

I watched helplessly as eventually
he struggled to rise, then into the air
he drunkenly took wing, away from
the porch, turned and flew directly
back onto his delusion of freedoms
space. The sound of the impact
sickened me.

One minute alive the next he lay
dead on the stone porch. A victim
of his instinctive inherit perseverance
for freedom.

We humans; perhaps all living creatures
are not so different than this little bird,
our innate instincts can and often do lead
us down the wrong paths, even to bad
endings. I buried the little downed flyer
beneath my favorite Birch tree in the
garden. To ensure that our Barn Cats
did not add the indignity of being eaten
to the little flyer's untimely demise.

How long has it been since
I had ***, I mean of course
with another person?
You know two consenting
warm bodies embracing,
deep wet kisses, real human
longing, affection rendered.
Forever it seems, relegated
now to indistinct night dreams
and long life ago memories
viewed as if projected like
pale untouchable shadows
on an indistinct grey wall.
There, but not there.

What is love and life but
lingering vague whispers
in a night of dwindling light.
Lasting only as long as our
conscious memories allow.

In my youth I strove to
ride all the WorldWinds,
until falling off, no longer
able to remount the beasts.

I miss the lofty views,
but not the extreme
exhausting turbulence.

Humans are by our natures
nurturers, we thrive when
giving, we take in stray animals
raise and love them like our own
children, if they by their natures
eat our sofa, crap on our carpet
we readily with charity forgive
them, clean up their mess and go on.

Is it not sad that we cannot always
extend or receive that same charity
of tolerance to or from the humans
in our lives?

I gazed too long at the sun,
blinded, at least now I am
spared the sight of all of
Lifes insufferable travails.
Better to dream or remember
the beauty that was, then look
upon the ugly that is.

In my youth I grasped for
more than I could possess.
Now grey of hair and beard,
I have learned less can be
more than enough.

Running forward on point, stalwart of
instinctive purpose he stopped at the
end of the orchard, waiting for me
to catch up, turning his head he sniffed
the air, listening, ever alert scanning the
surroundings and trail ahead.

No one assigned him to this task,
it was just in him. It's reassuring to
have a good old dog scout your way,
even if it is only a leisurely walk in
our own orchard.

He has gone on alone now, into the
next life, devotedly blazing our path
ahead. I trust that someday I will see
him there, forever faithfully on point.