all things brought to life continue

not the least

thoughts, words

and actions



from A Summer of Seasons by Lilie Allen



“Who is she when she’s in ‘er ‘ouse”, George Harrison in The Beatles movie, Hard Day’s Night.  Talking about a ‘posh bird’ who was a trendsetter.  The phrase stuck with me.  I don’t know why.  Seemed to mean something I couldn’t quite catch at the time.

Then, a sharp, single strike sound against the windowglass of our front screen door.  ?  I didn’t immediately go to the door.   Thought maybe some religious folk dropping off literature.  But, it was such an odd sound.  I looked out the window.  A bird.  Lying on his side, eyes shut, beak half open.  Oh no.  I went out.  Oh no.  I ruffled his chest feathers a bit, he was alive.  I went and got a clean washcloth and lifted him upright, carefully, gently.  One eye opened.  Some dishcloths and a box,  he was laid carefully in.  I had heard that if you put them in a quiet, protected place, from which they can escape, they may recover from a stun injury and take off.

We are renovating our porch, so it is a mess.  My husband came home and we moved the box a bit more out of the wind.  We waited an hour (well, we checked, checked, checked and checked).  Then we checked.  The bird was bright-eyed and at the edge of the box like, ‘hey, out, please’.  I folded down the side of the box, out he came and off he went.

It hit me what that expression was about, what turned inside my head when I heard it:  Only it read:  Who is he when he’s in his house.  A statement not a question.  Lately, my country is enveloped in every single move, drop of sweat or twitch our controversial head of country makes.  Mostly for the infotainment value, for surely nothing of dignity, compassion or value is learned.  That was it.  Here before me (the small bird) was important.  Not a small act to this bird.  And a heart enlarging experience for this human. I’ve been watching (on YouTube), Bealtaine Cottage by Colette O’Neill.  She’s my news replacement.  I learn something; I witness kindness and compassion; I hear some truth and spend those minutes with someone who says the thoughts in my mind, who makes me believe the world I learned about, believed in, is true, possible and to keep trying.

I am so glad the bird survived.  The incident, though some may consider minor, profoundly affected me.   The vulnerability of a small creature, the immediate dependence, I hope I don’t forget that.  We, each other, need your and my kindness in every moment we are privileged to breathe.

Thank you for taking your time to read this, I hope it carries a blessing and that you are one for the next person.   With Kindness (and Tea and Toast), Lilie



So, I began learning hiragana, to feel the flow of those beautiful characters.  I wanted to see what that rhythm was like and what it might bring to my writing.  I love haiku, am fascinated with those who pursue it.  But, I didn’t want to do anything constricted by form.  Informed by it, yes, constricted or contained – no.  Here are some efforts.


I drew a lamp


spilled across the page