I love your poem! So sweet… I was thinking he was a courageous little scrap, daring to dart down to the seeds on the ground while his companions flitted in the trees. So glad you liked the photo and are sharing it outward…sharing seeds with others. Love you, Barbara!
Thank you, Kathy, for your kind words and the picture! “The Brave & The Lonely” Sounds like a good title for an avian mini-series! 🙂 Love and chickadee blessings to you, too, dear friend!
Thanks, Val! I’ve been informed that in Emerson’s day (mid 1800s) the term “titmouse” included the black-capped chickadee here in New England. I’m sure they’re all very close cousins!
“Up and away for life! be fleet!-
The frost-king ties my fumbling feet,
Sings in my ears, my hands are stones,
Curdles the blood to the marble bones,
Tugs at the heart-strings, numbs the sense,
And hems in life with narrowing fence.
Well, in this broad bed lie and sleep,-
The punctual stars will vigil keep,-
Embalmed by purifying cold;
The winds shall sing their dead-march old,
The snow is no ignoble shroud,
The moon thy mourner, and the cloud.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
(The Titmouse)
He seems so lonely.. 🙁
Perhaps, or grateful for the invisible, generous hand…
I love your poem! So sweet… I was thinking he was a courageous little scrap, daring to dart down to the seeds on the ground while his companions flitted in the trees. So glad you liked the photo and are sharing it outward…sharing seeds with others. Love you, Barbara!
Thank you, Kathy, for your kind words and the picture! “The Brave & The Lonely” Sounds like a good title for an avian mini-series! 🙂 Love and chickadee blessings to you, too, dear friend!
Oh, that’s so sweet! We don’t have chickadees here in the UK, but they look so like our ‘titmice’.
Thanks, Val! I’ve been informed that in Emerson’s day (mid 1800s) the term “titmouse” included the black-capped chickadee here in New England. I’m sure they’re all very close cousins!
“Up and away for life! be fleet!-
The frost-king ties my fumbling feet,
Sings in my ears, my hands are stones,
Curdles the blood to the marble bones,
Tugs at the heart-strings, numbs the sense,
And hems in life with narrowing fence.
Well, in this broad bed lie and sleep,-
The punctual stars will vigil keep,-
Embalmed by purifying cold;
The winds shall sing their dead-march old,
The snow is no ignoble shroud,
The moon thy mourner, and the cloud.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
(The Titmouse)