This morning, the sorrow
of the dove. How much sweetness would be enough of it? Is the mourning dove's call like the light of those stars which still shine for us but have long since been burned out? Does the dove's sorrow come to us from a million years ago? How should we respond?
The greening has been coming on, we've seen it, yet yesterday it seemed so sudden, intense, like falling in love.
There must have been some drizzle or splash of rain during the night. There are raindrops on the windshield of the car still.
A flash of Baltimore oriole streaking across the driveway. Robins, oh robins are everywhere.
Today the wind seems to be from the north, blowing yesterday back to where it came from.
The question on the radio today is: is public art in the public domain? My question: who owns the skyline? who owns the sky? Who owns the air we breathe, who owns our sunlight, who owns your laughter, your sorrow?