Old Words, New Words
Old words, new words, like black birds and white birds whirling in the gray of a cloudy muted sky.
Black birds, assaulted by rain, tremble and struggle while the white birds whirl, unperturbed by wind and water.
They are from the sea and are turbulent in their own nature, these elements cannot surprise them. They are beyond surprise and awe, twirling in a wind swept horde above the glistening dripping world, elegant white birds, storm frenzied white birds, sky slicing white birds.
The black bird has found sanctuary somewhere in the eves of a house. Usually such a big strong bird, it has frightened me to see him wobble across the sky. Even knowing that he is now safe, I feel pained imagining the moment when the storm first caught him.
What was he doing when wind and water decided to throw birds across clouds? I feel frightened, even though he is now safe, even though I was today safe.
I feel fear knowing that chance will leave me to a storm one day, that everyday that I breath cannot be a safe day. And what will I be doing when forces greater than my self grab me up?
Surely no one is immune. No beast that walks, flies, swims, wriggles, or crawls can count itself safe forever.
Old words, new words, neither come quickly enough.