Crossing a bridge over a busy highway. Below, cars jockey for position. At high speed, they dart in and out, Passing one another, Frantic to get somewhere quickly, No matter the risk.
I walk on.
Every forty yards or so, I hear the next birdsong… Each repetitive, but musical and unique, and therefore beguiling. Relentless, they call out for a mate every morning. They are so determined, And will not be denied this.
Now in my 70s, I am in no hurry to get anywhere. Nor do I need to mate. What’s left? Musing from quiet observations.
I am a voracious reader and also enjoy writing. I often have a very different point of view than the popular one. I do see value in debate, and thought it might add to the public debate on controversial issues if I were to express my contrarian opinions. I also started keeping my poems recently (I've written little pieces my whole adult life but never kept any); and I've been a photographer now for over 25 years. So I will be adding an occasional poem and hopefully interesting photograph to the blog along the way, just to spice things up.
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