11:50:20 AM

photo: Sunny Lake

Jenny and I walk in Carver Park. Red-winged blackbirds
to each other like burbling water.

The lakes are still frozen, but as the ice thins it loses its
whiteness, and takes on the colors of the sky. Where water shows
through, it’s almost black: clear, cold and bottomless –
no plants, no sediment, no air.

The wind blows hard all day, blows until every stem vibrates, like
organ pipes, like the wingtips of ducks. We walk underneath, out of
the wind, but we feel the pressure of their wingbeats, ghost flocks
of millions, passenger pigeons, perhaps. Or maybe we are the ghosts,
left behind, left to walk the earth without them.

photo: acorn caps
photo: acorn
photo: lichens

5:23:33 AM

Almost asleep, not quite awake, I float at the edge of consciousness.
Outside, the wind roars. Our home leans into it. The wind races
through naked trees who clutch at it with their fingers, but it
slips through their grasp, again and again.