regarding a conversation with A. tonight about baby mallards:
it was a kind and gentle thing, saving that little family of ducks from a potential untimely demise, and even amid the humorous slant, it really was a sweet and touching story. and most definitely "blog worthy"... only i can't seem to write anything that captures the essence of what you did.
so i'll use your own words, from another conversation..."the sweetness of humankind still makes my heart ache sometimes." that seems fitting to me.
and then i'll borrow marge piercy, who wrote a brilliant little poem about virtue that i thought about when you told me your story.
On the beach where we had been idly
telling the shell coins--
cat's paw, cross-barred Venus, china cockle--
we both saw at once
the sea bird fall to the sand
and flap grotesquely.
He had taken a great barbed hook
out through the cheek and fixed
in the big wing.
He was pinned to himself to die,
a royal tern with a black crest blown back
as if he flew in his own private wind.
He felt good in my hands, not fragile
but muscular and glossy and strong,
the beak that could have split my hand
opening only to cry
as we yanked out the barbs.
We borrowed clippers, cut and drew out the hook.
Then the royal tern took off, wavering,
the acrobat returned to his element, then dipped,
zoomed, and sailed out to dive for fish.
Virtue: what a sunrise in the belly.
Why is there nothing else
I have ever done with anybody
that seems to me so obviously right?
from living in the open