Wednesday, 9 November 2011

Perching


... this quail flew up from the path we were walking on, to perch on the branch of a tree where it eyed us with its placid yet beady eyes, as we tried to get the light and profile just so  ...

Sometimes all one wants to do is perch a while ... not roost ... just perch. At the moment we have a bit of that going on on in our family.

I think of our son perching in Chile, while his girlfriend from Germany, perches in Peru. When our son has finished his Patagonian perching, they will both perch on the same branch somewhere in (I believe) Bolivia. (Note: In light of the strenuous mountain-biking going on, 'perching' may be a mis-placed verb in the case of our son. However, I plead my case by insisting that he will soon be up and away again, so it is a form of perching, albeit of a particularly energetic variety).


And here in Dunedin, another son and his wife are perching for just a little while, before taking off again.

Meanwhile, Robert and I while remaining the firmly grounded individuals we always have been, are also experiencing a form of perching, as we look ahead to our overseas trip over Christmas and New Year.

from my perch

In this rain on this day,
in a fashion, in my own way,
taking in the existence of brown dwarf stars

and sundogs, an oozing
orange of a sun (today
hidden from me by grey, polar fleece).

As well, communing
with other spinning people
on the other side

of the moon waxing gibbous, 97% full.
Learning too, how
to accept

eternity, impermanence and compliments,
how to trust the givers of such
and that this branch will indeed hold.

Kay McKenzie Cooke

Harbour

Harbour
'how this all harbours light'