not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Thursday, October 23, 2014


the awkward girl at the counter tried to cage her smile, an understandable form of self preservation. a grave scar dove down her delicate neck, lazed between her breasts, and then disappeared beneath her blouse. her buttons were done up poorly. when the situation dictated that she absolutely must - she opened her mouth to speak - and the silliest voice spoke out from her. i could not have imagined such a tragedy of characteristics. such a strange and awkward creature. something flung open a door in my chest and flew out toward her. immediately. i loved her.


  1. What a picture. What a picture. Love perhaps lies in the hidden, in the unseen, in your hands, and behind your eyes Erin.

  2. Oh we are all in cages, always. Except for fleeting, flying moments. I don't know why we can't be free. All the time. The heart's freedom is all.

    These word-thoughts and these feathers in flight knock me out. Together. Knock me open actually. This moment. Thank you.

  3. We tend to react this way, opening up and embracing a soul in need of support.

  4. it is to redefine perfection, i think. for me this seagull must be recognized as perfect. its wings! its breast! its perfectly tucked back leg! as with ruth, it breaks my heart, its place in this world underscored by its particular need for effort and endurance because of its difference, because of its vulnerability.

    you wouldn't know from this photograph but this particular seagull, one out of perhaps a hundred or more, flew from the safety of the group that was ruffling itself out over a farm field, and it alone swooped low over me on the road a number of times, lifting itself to a very nearby pole to act sentinel to the group. it seemed no one asked anything of it. it only happened that this seagull took his role.

    we are all and always so beautifully and perfectly misshapen. why aren't we all then always open and embracing, protective of one another?

    please don't think i don't include myself in the ranks of failure. in some situations (in too many, especially the already prescribed ones) i fall to my place well away from compassion and understanding.


  5. oh, and the girl is real but i'll never know her. i don't need to know her any more than this. her scar was so beautiful. it threw light off her chest like a river might buck light into the forest. i imagined the man or woman who might kiss her there, how they both must tremble.

  6. When we open up to the world, we take it all in...
    Mostly, we worry, we fear the unknown, we fail to pay attention...
    Love this very much.

  7. That's what happens when we truly see another person. As Byron Katie says, you're true nature is love. There's nothing you can do about it.

  8. Lovely, lovely, erin.

    Forgive me but, with

    a grave scar dove down her delicate neck,

    and just a moment to take in the photo... in a flash the beauty and gravity of the thing came clear, the bird I knew to be a seagull was suddenly a dove was an awkward ruffled counter girl, the torn fabric was reality, a winter roadside sign from which last summer's advert is forever peeling away, as yesterday becomes tomorrow & so on...

    Wonderful post.

  9. ...sometimes I wonder of the iron-clad strength interlaced with rice paper, then at times it is clear...


"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))