2025 Sara: I haven’t added one of these pages in some time, even as re-reading past entries is part of my morning ritual — up with Delia-the-dog before anyone else, feed her, drink coffee, sit at the dining room table and read poems of the day and review old entries from this day in past years, generated with Scott’s On This Day app.
dec 18, 2020 / 2.6 miles / 36 degrees
2025: I have posted bat bits from this poem before but since I’m currently thinking a lot about echolocation, I wanted to post them again:
from ABECEDARIAN FOR THE DANGEROUS ANIMALS/ Catherine Peirce
Fix your gaze upward and
give bats their due,
holy with quickness and echolocation:
in summer’s bleakest hum, the air
judders and mosquitoes blink out,
knifed into small quick mouths. Yes,
lurking in some unlucky bloodstreams
might be rabies or histoplasmosis, but almost
no one dies and you
owe the bats for your backyard serenity.
Yes, give bats their due. Now I want to combine bat lines for my echolocation collection!
dec 18, 2024 / 4.25 miles / 26 degrees
2025: I love this window poem —
from Some Things Last/ Ahmad Almallah
They look away from the blank space remaining—oh these
birds in the mornings are funny and the little tricks they
repeat and repeat, like these sounds they make, in order:
they fly off together or one by one, puffing up their small
bodies, extending a peak that opens up a view, that finds
space in whatever looks shut and closed—a wall has
some hole, a tree trunk can manage a crack, and under
the ledge, a window knows something
of the hidden world.
finding space in whatever looks shut, opening up — a hole, a crack