It was winter, near freezing, I’d walked through a forest of firs when I saw issue out of the waterfall a solitary bird.
It lit on a damp rock, and, as water swept stupidly on, wrung from its own throat supple, undammable song.
It isn’t mine to give. I can’t coax this bird to my hand that knows the depth of the river yet sings of it on land.
About the author:
Kathleen Jamie is a poet and a writer of non-fiction. She began writing poetry in her teens and since then, writing has remained the touchstone of her life: “It’s where I do my best thinking, and where I rub up against the world.” She is especially interested in the natural world and she’s walked and sailed many miles to encounter other species,…
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The Simple Things (Digital) - 1 Issue, February 2022