kingbird on fence
Journal of a Sabbatical

April 5, 1999


today the sky is blue




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Copyright © 1999, Janet I. Egan


Today's sky is the blue that people move here for. The trees are pink with buds. Chickadees have switched to their spring song. I've already heard peepers and seen turtles. The Red Sox are tied with Kansas City at 2 all in the 5th. The month is April. The season is Spring.

I'll be 48 on Thursday. My nose is running. My favorite sports are baseball and sumo wrestling. My favorite poets are Matsuo Basho and Donald Hall. I have five brothers - usually the first thing people find out about me beyond my name. My interests besides baseball are: birds, oceanography, poetry, weather, religion, existentialism, photography, world music, cats, and New England history not necessarily in that order. Nancy says she still would've answered my personal ad if I'd said my hobbies were religion and poetry instead of baseball and world music.

Today is Monday. The birds currently in evidence in the immediate vicinity of my home/office are blue jay, starling, house sparrow, common grackle, robin, American crow, black-capped chickadee, redwing blackbird, pigeon, and mourning dove. One of the pigeons is all white like one of those doves of peace. We could use a dove of peace about now. When I was a kid I found it funny that the Holy Ghost was represented by a pigeon. What kind of bird would g*d the father be? And the son?

The Red Sox just scored the go ahead run and a red-tailed hawk just sent the entire bird chorus into total silence. Pedro Martinez has 9 strikeouts in the 6th inning. The birds haven't started up again even though the hawk is gone. The radio announcers point out that Jose Offerman is an anagram for Major Offense. Wilbur stretches, licks himself, and goes back to sleep. Red Sox 4, Royals 2 in the middle of the seventh. Birds start singing again.

The images of Albanian refugees trudging toward Macedonia and the images of fireballs over Belgrade haunt my sleep and my waking when I least expect it.

In the words of Vikram Seth: "The months go by; the world goes on."