The Holy Ordinary
By Sara Wright
This poem and photograph was originally published in the SeedBroadcast agri-Culture Journal #24
When I heard them
conversing at the
edge of the marsh
my heart leapt
into my throat
They’re back!
Black Winged Women
continue to gather
in Community
a streak of
crimson
slices through
indigo sky
we’ve come home
they cry
to anyone
who cares to listen
we’re here Weaving
Birthing
Biding our time…
When I found
the dead dove
I stroked
soft mole
brown
feathers
stretched out
an ink spotted wing
and wept
once whole
flocks gathered
outside
my window
mourning dove
lay too still
in the snow
a week later
soft coos
papa was
calling
at dusk
my heart
rejoiced
when I heard
her reply
I dreamed
then
that
one pair
would nest here
in the valley
though it
had been years
I awakened
this morning
to whirring
wings
fluttering
to earth
breathing deep
into my longing
to join them
I soared
these doves
are calling
me home.
Working Notes
By the end of March spring is on the wing. Catkins are bursting from the poplars that will feed the first wild bees, though old snow still blocks my front door, and nightly freezes ensure each path will turn to mud. Wild turkeys who live here all year are no longer twittering but gobble enthusiastically for the first time today as they wait for me to scatter their seed.
I am drawn down to the marsh every dawning to hear the songs I have missed for so long. Migrating birds are coming home and the joy I feel when I recognize each new melody is a gift. The world may have gone dark, but the sound of these spring symphonies brings me to my knees in gratitude and prayer.
The species I write about are ‘ordinary’ by which I mean that these migrating birds were once considered ‘common’ as if that made a difference. The birds no longer arrive in huge flocks, but still they come, and redwings and mourning doves are two of my favorites. I feel sparks of hope rising over the horizon even if it’s just for this moment.
Turkey gobbling is just one more sign of the change of seasons. Living with so much uncertainty is the greatest challenge I have ever faced and when seasonal turnings are supported by the return of familiar friends my feet touch ground while my body soars skyward. I imagine then that there might be a time when I will find roots to hold me fast below the surface of a culture whose ways are so destabilizing. Fear for the future is a grim reality.
Why such a focus on women? Many birds, especially the insectivores who are also prey birds who have been hunted without mercy feel to me like women with wings.
The ‘holy ordinary’ is a phrase used by Terry Tempest Williams that describes these moments when we are swept into deep time … women with wings can fly
The adjective ‘holy’ comes from an old English word meaning “blessed.” There is a relationship between holy and whole.
Blessed be.
Sara is a writer, ethologist, and naturalist who is making her home between Abique, New Mexico and Maine. She has indigenous roots. Nature is her muse and inspiration. She writes for many publications most of which focus on nature and eco-feminism - the belief that what is happening to the earth is also happening to women.