…fragment from an old notebook:
This moth, wings folded, is unrecognizable as
a moth. Convinced it is a decomposing leaf, a scrap of newspaper,
I nearly grind it into powder with my sneaker. From between my
feet it opens wings the startling blue of a robin’s egg, rises
and is gone.
Although I remember writing this in summer it seems to fit
with today. Finally it feels like spring in southern New England.
The cardinals have returned to the giant boxwood in the back yard.
I forget they are back and then glimpse the male — a vivid
wedge of red. It reminds me of when I wrote this:
This morning as I dress, a jay
dives from the gum tree —
the blue streak running through
me
