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Grass No. 42 - Birth

Grass
Grass No. 42 - Birth
By Hudson Gardner • Issue #42 • View online

Rough Draft
Rough Draft
They say there is a birthday, but I have been growing older all year long.
What it is is another day of growing older, in a long chain of days
that have no beginning themselves
or any end, according to days themselves
My little line of life a marker amidst trillions
Nothing insofar altogether special
The fact of days is based on how the planet turns
A minute, sixty seconds
We measure it
But everyone knows time feels different according to circumstance
Like how summers when i was a child felt endless
Or the first time you do anything takes a while
Then something catches up, maybe it’s that
I’ve stopped noticing clearly how beautiful everything is
Picked up worries along the way
Wondering about how anything will ever work
Looking to the future, trying to know it
Looking at the past, wrong/right

First day of spring I saw a swallow on the weathervane
He/she from far away
The wind blew
The swallow swung in a circle
Another landed on the other side
And they went together
Around, around, around in a little circle
Twittering, shrugging, hunching
Black-blue iridescent back, white breast, cleaning-a-wing
Little sharp faces, some red buff below the chin
Walked away before they had even left

How can I say this
The swallows—
They don’t know
What time it is
Or how many years
Have passed
They know when it’s night or day
When it’s cold, time to go away, 
when to come back they know
What’s to eat
Where to sleep
How to fly


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Hudson Gardner

Writing & Photos covering place, ecology, and existence.

Created and curated by Hudson Gardner

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