It's raining here, the last vestiges of Humberto the hurricane spending his last, failing energies.
The field out behind the office is filled with white cowbirds, each hunched over against the blowing wind and the driving rain. They're looking for bugs and such stirred out by the floodwaters, I assume, and being birds accustomed to working in knee-deep water they find the rain to be not so bothersome.
Here's the picture (much cropped) but that's not the entirety of it.
I want to tell you what I saw when I looked out that window. I want you to have the experience of it. Thus, my Poetry Friday Challenge: Letting Go.
Three Songs For The End Of Summer
Egrets in the rain.
A yard full of old men in long white coats.
Teachers of mathematics or science or medicine.
Each one's head bent under the unbearable weight
of vast stores of knowledge.
They all face the same way,
together they are wending
their slow way
across the huge, rough-kept quadrangle
of some ancient college
Each making for an echoing classroom or musty library,
ready to let go of their burdens,
ready to pour out their overfull clay jars of knowledge
onto the upturned faces of their students
or onto the pale blank pages of books.
Egrets in the rain looking like a field of nuns
resplendent in their white habits
sowing wheat by hand.
Undeterred by the rain,
heads bent to their task,
casting out carefully measured handfuls of seed
onto the damp ground
Mindful of the harvest their work represents
they move patiently, meticulously
letting fall potential onto the receptive ground.
Egrets in the rain.
Last vestige of Summer's theocracy.
They look like
a group of pilgrims
gathered in some consecrated vale,
quietly worshiping as the black clouds
let go their burden of rain onto white vestments.
Each one stands with bowed back
and head held low, humble before god
eyes looking only at the ground
as though to find some
pearl of wisdom cast before them
lost in the tall grass.