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May 21st, 2009

nigh on full-fledged

My eaglet friend is pushing outright "eagle." Getting big. Perhaps mere days from that first flight, called "fledging."

This week at work I've had my windows arranged so I can keep an eye on her while I do the editing (and the reading over the editing) (and the playing HORSE vs. the computer). She stretches out her wings a lot. Flies from one side of the nest to the other. Hop-flies to hover, chaotically, inches above the nest. Now, with the new computer, I can watch her at home, too. Last few minutes she's been doing nest-keeping practice.

Those increasingly less awkward wings are a marvel, bent out at their angles, akimbo, but with feathers all lined up in exactly the right directions. She holds 'em up in breeze as if just to feel how that feels again, "yeah, right, hunh," then folds 'em back up against her sides.

She's also been doing a lot of sitting right on the edge of the nest, looking out. Looking like she's thinking about it.

This watching is different for me. A new thing. Watching this baby, the one survivor of the nest---and the parent eagles, doing their thing, all matter-of-fact--- I don't know what to say about it, but it keeps me coming back. I'm not branching out to other nests the watchers of this one talk about, when I go see what they're saying, to find out what junior's been up to while I'm gone, when fledging might happen, that they're thinking this one's female, where the parents are thought to be hanging out. I'm watching this one.

The feeding routine is changing, as the youngster is subtly encouraged more often to feed herself what they bring (though she still gets some beak-to-beak every day), and allowed to get a little hungrier, maybe so's to want to go find her own fish. Seems today as if part of the motivation for nestwork could just be getting these pesky big pokey sticks out of the way so they stop catching a wing or a foot during the flappy hovering.

Life is pretty much sitting there, seeing how the body parts work, eating, scratching an ear when it itches, futzing with the nest, resting, and chirping at the folks.

Pretty soon she's gonna do the thing that's so grand it's one of yer fundamental metaphors. It'll be grand, for her and for me, and it'll be, for her and for me, just another day, just what comes next. I'm excited about it. I'm in no hurry, and I'm not wishing that it hold off.

You look at the nest, you're in that moment. I mean, you're always in a moment, but, I dunno. I dunno.


Postcard of the Day

(a feature involving a postcard on a day)

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For another postcard thing, see
my old postcard poems tumblr or
its handy archive.

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Many posts are friends-only; livejournal "friend" me and tell me who you are if you wanna read.


"What was once thought cannot be unthought."

-- Möbius, The Physicists


"The moment of change is the only poem."

-- Adrienne R.


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