Nests
One spring morning, under the trembling
white blooms of our kiwi vine—
supported by an old ladder, just in line
with the seen-better-days porch railing—
I glimpsed, as though deep into a cave,
the woven edges of a wren’s nest.
No doubt you guess the rest.
For the rest of the season, we gave
those tiny, vociferous birds
a very wide berth,
moved our chairs, well knowing the worth
of a space without words,
of resonant emptiness, hidden
under a fragrant curtain
while the outcome is uncertain,
in intent endeavors, bidden and unbidden.
Leslie Schultz
Good morning, Sally,
Thank you! I don’t recall, but know it was in a bouquet given to me some time ago. These stems fell out, suggesting the shape of “N” and I nudged them into a clearer alignment before snapping the photograph in the kitchen.
I didn’t know the name of the flower until you told me now–glad to know it.
Love, Leslie
Good morning, Leslie,
This is beautiful. I love the craspedia, and am wondering where it came from.
Love, Sally
Glad it worked!
Lovely — every which way! Photo-rhyme-word choice-form…
The opening stanza is so vivid, Leslie! I can just picture the setting and the nest hidden deep among the vines! I also think the opening photo of the “N” is wonderful. Wish my name was Nancy or Norma so I could have that be part of my “signature” online and with stationary!