Tracks

A confusion of tracks in the sand.  I should perhaps wax philosophical, or lyrical, but will instead let them speak for themselves.

I feel a bit wordless today, as if Jane Hirshfield's moth has eaten everything I might have had to say.

A Moth Ate Words

A moth ate words—
I thought it strange to hear,
and a wonder of fate,
that a worm in darkness
can thieve a man’s fine riddle,
swallow his song,
sip eloquence and feast on its foundation,
And yet that stealthy guest
who dines on stolen words will leave no wiser.

—Jane Hirshfield

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Bird Tracks