For A River of Stones
Small fledgling teeters
at edge of only world
it has ever known.
with wind of hope
mingled with fear,
knowing it takes
but one bit
Elizabeth Crawford 1/20/11
Loves words and language. Dances on paper to her own inner music. Loves to share and keeps several blogs to facilitate that. They can be found here: https://1sojournal.wordpress.com/
Wow! Beautiful, the image of the little bird on the edge of the nest – also a great metaphor for us humans. Wonderful, Elizabeth!
Sherry, it is definitely a metaphor and I like this one in particular,
Yes, it is a beautiful stone! I love it. You got it just right.
Thank you Annell, I do so appreciate your generous words. You make me smile,
There are so many times in our lives where the terror of the fledgling is palpable in us. The poem is charming on the surface, and deeper than it seems.
Thank you Viv. I found myself sitting crossed legged in my bed, rocking back and forth, knowing I had a choice to make that would alter my reality. When I came here to write the stone, all I could see was that little fledgling and knew I had to write about her.
Priceless. I’m in the CA desert right now where it’s spring-like and saw a young mockingbird yesterday just like that!
Oh, what a wonderful piece of synchronicity. I had the image in my head, understood why it was there, but then you come and tell me you saw it in the flesh. Thank you, Victoria,