I love that I have such wonderful people in my life, and I love that so many are brilliantly creative and talented. It's an endearing way to be.
I was sent this poem by a musician and writer friend of mine, Matthew Newby. Such a gentle and lovely way to write.
On the landing I stood watching the bird,
its small chest moving only slightly now.
Taken from the mouth of the family cat
it lay, feathers ruffled, wings akimbo.
Then my mother sighed and tried to explain
what the stillness meant, what death meant in words.
"But why?" was the only question I had.
I thought of the mohair coats that she wore,
one turquoise, another red like plumage.
And with my ear pressed to her chest she asked,
"Are you afraid that will happen to me?"
From then on I would walk to her wardrobe
just to pull down those coats from their hangers
and sit. Wearing one, smelling the other.
Check out his blog: