.

last Sunday afternoon, while reading by
the water I heard a tremendous flap of
wings overhead, looked up and saw a
white swan flying fairly low to the
ground, so low that I could feel a
rush of air from its spectacular 7
foot wing span stretched out across
30 lbs of bird, its ebony-black bill
open and calling to the blue sky like
a french horn. trumpeter swans. the
world's largest waterfowl species and
although indiginous to here, remain
endangered.

on Sunday, I also saw a large branch being
dragged by a 30 foot fishing line wrapped
around the feet of a female sea gull. she
flew past and landed on a nearby dock
where the line got caught between two
boards, fluttered in the water and tried
to shake it free until I arrived with a
pair of pliers. I tugged on the line to
pull her in, drew her close to the dock
and cut it loose. after her release and
whenever I revisit this spot, the same
gull also returns. she favours one leg
and stands next to me. with each visit,
she inches a little closer, so I
routinely offer her some food in hope
that she will eventually let me get
near enough to cut the rest of the
tangled line from her feet, to earn
her trust to set her free. I think
about the fact that birds arrived
here 150 million years before humanity
and how they must have have witnessed
our birth to self-awareness. each time
I see this particular gull, I think
about the carelessness of some
fishermen but also

"...the life force packed tight into that
puff of feathers to lay the mind wide open
to the mysteries - the order of things, the
why and the beginning. ... "
(Graeme Gibson)

later that same night, I dreamt that I was
driving a canary-yellow convertable, circa
1950s, spinning its whitewall wheels through
an unknown campus past lush green lawns and
medieval architecture, hugging a red brick
road flanked by mature willows and stone
fountains and the more it curved, the more
the road seemed to rise. at first a gradual
ascent but with each new turn, the path
steepened until it ended in a circular
drive at the foot of a castle. and even
though the road came to an end, the car
kept driving, right up the side of the
castle tower, up the circular roof where
tires gripped grey until the shingles ran
out and then flew straight through blue,
hovered there in the air for a moment,
flipped and fell back down, passed
turrets and stained glass til the grass
rose up and struck. I remember dreaming
how aware I was that I was dreaming,
but more than that, that if the car
actually crashed with me in it, that
I would also die in my waking life.
it was the rush of skin past air,
the weight of metal hitting green.
I saw all of this, and then prolonged
black, allthewhile thinking "I'm still
alive"; at the same time, I also dreamt
the sound of wings. this dream has
remained with me perhaps because
of its piquant clarity, notsomuch
because I cheated death in a dream
but because it underscores another
kind of awakening that I seem to be
experiencing lately; the elliptical
world of birds, their mystery, their
timelessness, something undefinably
ancient contained in beaks and wings
that I suddenly need to notice.

each night, just before falling asleep,
I hear the sound of canada geese flying
past my window, calling through the dark
to guide each other along migratory paths,
leading all those who will follow and
claiming the night as if to summon
ancestral dreams.

Night Crow

When I saw that clumsy crow
Flap from a wasted tree,
A shape in the mind rose up;
Over the gulfs of dream
Flew a tremendous bird
Further and further away
Into a moonless black
Deep in the brain, far back.

(Theodore Roethke)