Ink smears, as thoughts sometimes do. ~Terri Guillemets

Some days so many words rush to my head,

But I don't know how to say them
So I write them instead


Saturday, August 7, 2010

In Pitch Dark.

My newspaper contained this:

Good government and a vote for every citizen; these things are fine
Yet what use are they without a bird singing upon every head?
For every soul- bird music, bird happiness, bird feeling.
But our birds leave- and sadness begins to arrive
Why do the birds leave us? do our heads become too loud and harsh and busy?
Com back little bird, my head is safe now. It is calm with sadness. I am ready.
-Leunig

I wonder where my bird is. Circling the world, filled with happiness. I wonder where my bird is?

I know though, it is time for it to come back.


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