Thursday, September 20, 2012

crimson, carmine

You know if woodbird has been quiet for a while that time has been scarce. As much as I looked forward to A returning to school it turns out that: 1) her being at school means she needs more love before and after 2) that the minute one has “free” time it fills up with other good work, immediately (water to the low spot) 3) that Cricket’s naps are completely unreliable, and 4) that time “to write” is the hardest time to carve and protect and fortress that I know.

I have spent these last few weekday mornings deep-cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, preparing for Red Heart the Ticker shows, preparing for lectures, entertaining Cricket, and reviewing grant applications for the Vermont Arts Council. All good work. But my work? It’s still waiting in the attic, pecking at the floorboards and chirping at an increasing velocity. Through children with colds and children with sleeping problems and semi-professional deadlines and house construction projects. Robin? It’s up there chirping. Robin? Robin? The floor filling up with feathers and sawdust. Robin? Peck. Peck. Chirp. Chirp. Squawk. Feathers. Sawdust. The chickens of my youth. SQUAWK. Chirp. Robin?