The forsythia are giving way to lilacs. Less glow, better
smell....
The forsythia are giving way to lilacs. Less glow, better
smell. I came out of my apartment this morning, taking out a bag of trash, and
the air smelled like bloom. I breathed deep and felt thrilled – some days in
May the air is filled with flowers. What a good thing we get to sense. May’s a
month that in its very name begins a question, grants permission, holds
possibility. May I? You may. It may. I may. We may. So much potential energy.
I rounded the corner of the building, moving quickly on my
small errand to take out the trash, and was halted in the street. Standing ontop
of the trash bin was a hawk. We locked eyes and I stood still and we stared at
each other, four feet apart. Oh fuck, I heard myself say quietly. I broke the
lock between our eyes to see that it stood ontop of some dead animal, bird or
squirrel I do not know, it was mostly guts, a shocking red, and my heart beat
faster in my chest and the hawk sensed it maybe and flew off along the fence,
its prey gripped tight in its talons, some dark bit of entrail dangling. There
was blood on the lid of the barrel and my heart flew, and I felt lucky and
scared and glad, glad to be gripped for a moment in silent union, exhilarated
by the sudden stop of time. It made me wonder, with excitement: what may happen
next?
[Leonard Baskin, from Cave Birds]
