Diana van den Berg
A Diary Entry
The yellow-billed kites are back
and have been for almost a month.
As I sit here in my back garden
with my cat and my dog,
one flies silently high overhead
slicing through the sky
with military precision
and compass-curved wings.
Much lower hadedahs rush their wings
and their news in heavy metal voices
through the garden
filling the moment
and when they have passed
I become aware
of a multitude of smaller birds
constituting a constant chorus
and I name the soloists
in my languid Sunday thoughts,
and their perfect inadvertent harmony,
each species with the rest
soaks my soul
and the sun bakes my tensions gone
and I breathe damp earth wholeness
and my soul floats and sings and dances
and I am at peace in a perfect world.
Here and there a distant bark
sends an almost inaudible, lethargic, Sunday message.
Birds and butterflies and a dragonfly or two
flit before my eyes
as though they know I am no threat
to their delicate little lives.
A blue-headed lizard shares a glance with me
as he basks unafraid in the sun on the garden wall.
I need to share this perfect peace
with every friend and foe and stranger
to be engulfed by Nature’s moment.
My book lies closed upon my lap
for this is too much life to waste.
My cat and dog feel it too
and we bond in an uncustomary silence
in reverence and awe of the magnitude
of grace and blessing and happiness beyond measure.
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