She listens to the world move [beat, two-three, beat] like old people listen to talk radio. And flutters in her own world, wild thing, she programs an image to her brain:
Much like a ballet, she falls when she fears the music is stopping. [pressing her cheek against her knee] Then valiantly she jumps and spins, [twirling two, three, spinning two, three]
But eventually, all music ends;
fallen on the stage
If you connected with this poem, the comments section is for you to share your thoughts and/or experiences.I am grateful to anyone that chooses to share – I make that space for you.Thank you for taking the time to read this poem today.
I love flightless birds. You might even say they’re a favorite category of bird.
While my absolute favorite bird is the Okarito kiwi (and I promise to do a write up about why eventually), there are so many close runner ups. Flightless birds are badasses and they are disappearing. Fast.
But last year Janske van de Crommenacker et al published about their incredible discovery of a species of flightless bird re-evolving itself back into existence on the little island of Aldabra off the coast of Madagascar.
This brings into play, based on the fossil and what data we have recorded so far, the first documented case of iterative evolution.
They figured this out by comparing the current genome to historic DNA samples from the extinct species. This is practically the plot of Jurassic Park, except all done not by humans.
So, over 10,000 years, the Aldabra Rail evolved itself back into existence.
If you want to take something motivational away from this:
You can always reinvent yourself.
If an entire species can re-evolve itself back into existence – you can pick yourself back up and keep going.
You can survive whatever you’re going through. It may be arduous, but I promise you’ll find a way.
This was your motivational, slightly scientific TIL.
Please feel free to use the comment to share your thoughts and personal experiences openly and freely below – I reserve the comments section for that. Thank you for taking the time to read this today.
Sometimes we wonder Why we keep calling the same number When the telephone rings Until we return the phone to the receiver Maybe someday Our Father will answer And laugh as He says “I’ve been waiting for your call all week”
I recognize that “Until we return the phone to the receiver” calls out my age and the year this poem was written.
I cannot pretend to know or understand what your experiences have been. If you connected with this poem, the comments section is for you to share your thoughts and/or experiences.I am grateful to anyone that chooses to share – I make that space for you.Thank you for taking the time to read this poem today.
“I want to feel the brass and hold it. Feel the movement of each piece and know I’ll be able to calibrate it for him,” I whine to the cat. The autumn winds blowing down from Alaska drown out my words as they wind their way over the Rockies.
Staring at the pictures, I imagine the heavy brass of my family’s sextant balanced in my clumsy hands as my father lets me look at it. His calloused palms poised to catch the instrument should I falter.
“This one won’t do.” I toss it into the mental pile of surveying and mapping equipment I look at; never purchase.
Who can afford to spend over a thousand dollars on something like this over the internet? I mentally discard another with a fancier, more modern black finish.
I call my parents. “I want to buy Jacob a sextant for his birthday. What’s the story behind ours? Does Dad have any advice?”
Thousands of miles of static and telephone lines crackle. “The one your dad has was your great grandfather’s from the maritime academy. Why do you want one for Jacob?”
I pause and shrug into the phone. “To record our locations for dark sky photography. GPS can’t be trusted out here.” I grasp my forehead and castigate my own thoughts. But I’m the one that knows how to use one for surveying, navigation, and astronomy – that would be a terrible gift.
I stare out at the horizon hidden by mountains and try to find the ocean beneath the curvature of the earth. Jacob doesn’t care about the difference between a mile and a nautical mile. What does he care about?
I catch him and ask about his feelings around flying and clouds pass over the sun – visibility down to less than 5 miles and he gives me a look that says VFR ain’t going to fly. He never got a seaplane rating and this dream is about to try a water landing without pontoons. “I don’t know when the next time I’m going to fly is. Please don’t get me anything that could be related to flying.”
I decide against getting him a sextant and reminisce about when we spent hours talking about the intersection of history where airplanes and ships used the same navigation systems and why. I stare at the stormy sea of sky lapping against the mountain sides and remember our last aerial photography trip. I order his birthday cake and continue to brainstorm better gifts.
Montana now has the highest rate of transmission of any state. Distracted, I stare at the news and try to process how dangerous it is to step outside. This was all predictable based on the behavior patterns of 1918.
Birthdays have to remain special in the face of COVID, so I order wine and check our reservation for the weekend. I check that his favorite decaf pop and breakfast cereal are in the pantry. I try and decide what else we should do to make it a special day about him.
While most of the United States has been living with this since March, Jacob has been living with COVID since it first hit obscure global news last autumn and I brought it home by explaining how diseases follow human behavior patterns. In February I set up forecasting models and told him how to prepare before the preppers drained the stores of paper products, resulting in channeled anxiety and full isolation.
My incredible husband and love of my life sits with me in my mind while I wonder how to celebrate someone as amazing as him. I think of bonfires, quality time, adventures, and our daily lives. I think about these acts of preparation and foresight and how they are gifts and acts of love in themselves.
I buy Jacob 2 books and 2 glass vessels for his birthday following the theme: Scientific Magic. I write a blog post about not buying a sextant and realizing that was a dumb gift idea. I refuse to spoil the surprise while I continue further preparations and celebrate his existence everyday.
Happy Birthday to my amazing partner and best friend, Jacob. I have many best friends, but you are the one I married and the one I celebrate today. My forever partner in adventure 💕