March 2009

Sunny and cold. My mother starts up the trail into the woods with her pant-legs tucked into her socks against the plague of deer ticks.

A new squeal from the locust trees. The wind is an eraser that works badly, and tears a hole in the woods if pressed too hard.

Another cold, clear morning, with just enough wind to keep my sunlit breath from blocking my view. A killdeer calls from high overhead.

Over the clang of church bells, the ethereal cries of wild swans: a huge high V off to the north. Sorry, folks. G-d has left the building.

Cold and clear. Looking west, I spot a bright white dot on the far side of the field: the breast of a red-tailed hawk shining in the sun.

Swirling snow, swan music, song sparrow, the tapping of a woodpecker, a chipmunk’s tock tock tock—forget God. Is your moment big enough?