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Cats and cranes

The days are simple. I appreciate.
Couples of cranes and their call as they fly above our cabin, heading further north. Endless caravans of cranes.
Cranes are monogamous. Cranes are migratory.
as if love is not power structure, suppression, accounting and hypocrisy
as if love is companionship

I love the cranes for what they represent.
I feel an urge to do a poetry slam.

I want to whisper about climate change and talk about love but I live in the wild, my audience would in any case be the cranes and the cranes don´t seem to care
they´re really busy getting further north
like they´re running.
I wish I could make the cranes stop.
Just for a minute. Slow down already.

Sometimes a couple of cranes settle down by the lake and thus we have a dreaded autumn moment, the moment we realize the cranes are gone, they left, we lost something.
It´s the same kind of moment
and the same kind of feeling
you get when you stand by the railroad tracks and observe how they transport
many many many many many
forests out of the forest
I don´t know what you need all of them trees for!
I wish you wouldn´t take them away!

But the days are simple and I appreciate.

Woke up by a phone call from Denmark. My son Silas told me about the solar eclipse. I´m not going to write about it. I guess it makes me uncomfortable but his voice and his love made me feel comfortable, and calm too, so all in all and I repeat, they days are simple and I appreciate.

The cats.
In the morning. This morning.
How they can sit there and just stare at me
They don´t make a noise, not a single call
they know that I know that they want
me to feed them.

Maybe I´ll just tell the cats about climate change
then I can go be a cat lady
instead of a crane lady


When I hear the calls of the cranes
in the spring
I wake up
oh my god we didn´t die!

Surviving winter is not a given
in the winter we head for the cuckoos nest
I forget
how close we walk to the edge
in the winter
oh my god we didn´t die!

Someone on this blog said that she was planting for draught. I´ll be planting for draught too. I think we should all plant for drought.
As if we could avoid death by spreading love everywhere
all of our seeds
even on barren ground.

A storm is rising outside and the dark is about to swallow the light.

I don´t like the solar eclipse one bit and I miss my kids.


9 comments on “Cats and cranes

  1. Dear andrea
    When one has children so young it is a long lifetime with an empty nest.
    You have plenty of time to fill it with other creative efforts, however.

    Just as the first time one gives birth, when one changes one’s role from being a daughter to becoming a mother–with its corresponding poignant glance backward and farewell to “freedom” or whatever–so too when children grow and leave.
    We pass out of one room of our lives and enter another, life is one-way. One must inhabit a new room, but still we look backward and experience a little death. To me it is how we evolve in becoming real human beings.

    It seems good (probably necessary) for children to leave and physically separate from “the nest”. Then they are freer to return if they wish, as equals and colleagues of their parents.

    Or, as I see here (US) parents leave to relocate closer to their children/grandchildren, often because where they live is meaningless anyway, its being an accident of employment.

    If where and how you live roots you and conveys values, your children will probaly want to return there.

    We are still wrapped in winter (coastal Massachusetts), while Alaska, Greenland, and northern Sweden have abnormally warm temperatures. You are planting your garden! It will be about three weeks/month before my soil dries out enough to touch or plant in. We are living in extraordinary times.
    All best,
    ~ Abigail


  2. Wonderful poem! Happy Equinox!


  3. Eumaeus says:

    We have survived the winter too. But the early butterflies are like an illusion. The mourning cloaks fluttering through the woods. Not that we’ve seen any yet. But there are other illusions. Harbinger of spring. Winter has not subsided. There are winter skins to be shed still. Fires still to be lit. Growing season is not yet upon us. Still in winter’s pull. And the time of the shift has not happened. That will be in this moon. But it has not happened. Then the tiny root hairs will be out and new. the growing season will have started and the greens and browns will be mixed. That is the time where the GREAT PLANS are made. That is when we stand among demigods in magic belts and watch cats do yoga sticking out their tongues.No, that time has not come. We are still in winter. The growing season has not started. The sap has been drunk but the system has not been flushed. We have survived but we are not there yet. Wait for the asparagus. Wait for the asparagus.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Andy Jukes says:

    Yesterday a sparrow hawk took a mouse from the ground almost at my feet.
    It was a wild explosion of life and death. Sudden. Vivid. Breath-taking. What struck me most, apart from the hawk’s barred tail feathers, was the impossibility of separating life and death. There was such intensity of life in this death giving. The hawk brings death yet is so impossibly alive it shames our shallow existence. Whilst we hesitate and ponder, it has ended a life and saved another as its chicks cry out for more food.
    We too often take forgranted that tomorrow we will wake. One day we will not. The trick is to live every day as if tomorrow were not guaranteed.


  5. You are all such wonderful people and I thank you for your insights and thoughts. This is beautiful.


  6. BeeHappee says:

    Beautiful, Andrea. I had hard time to find any words for this when I read your thoughts this morning.

    With all the beautiful words that had been said above, the only thing that I will remember a week from now, is cats doing yoga with their tongues sticking out, thanks to Eumaeus. . 🙂 That is if I live that long, yes, Andy, each breath can be the last one.

    Anyway, I am keeping an eye on the storks coming back to Lithuania, if only through a camera lens, live nest video (dark at night):
    And our tomatoes that kids planted way too early from seeds they harvested are already blooming indoors.. Need some bees and butterflies in the house. And cats.


  7. ncfarmchick says:

    You have cranes, we have Canada geese as one of the harbingers of Spring. I remembered today, as my boys waved to the geese on the pond, that we waved to them in the Fall when they were passing through on their way to even warmer climes than ours. I listened to the greetings from my boys, hearing, “Hello, Geese! It’s nice to see you!” and remembered the simpler calls of, “Geese, Geese!” of last Fall and wondered if I have changed and grown as much as they have in a Winter’s time. In some ways, I’d like to think so, in others, I’m not sure. Of course, Abigail is right when she says above that life flows in one direction but, boy, do we sometimes spend so much time looking back. Spring helps. I like Winter more and more the older I get but at this time of year I am ready to move on from contemplation to moving, flying, Springing! Thank you for the beautiful words above and in every post.


  8. nicoleaugust says:

    “For he will do
    As he do do
    And there’s no doing anything about it!”
    ― T.S. Eliot, Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats


  9. Dougald says:

    “As if we could avoid death by spreading love everywhere
    all of our seeds
    even on barren ground.”

    I read this and thought of some words of Martin Shaw’s that have been living with me lately:

    “I have not a clue whether we humans will live for another 100 or 10,000 years. We can’t be sure. What matters to me is the fact we have fallen out of a very ancient love affair – a kind of dream tangle, with the earth itself. If, through our own mess, that relationship is about to end, then we need to scatter as much beauty around us as we possibly can, to send a voice, to attempt some kind of repair.”


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