You will be blessed if you ever catch a glimpse of their plain feathers, the gray of slate shingles in the rain, and their bright black eyes shining with every good secret they will never tell. They preferred the thickest brush along our creek bed and what was overgrown around the abandoned shed. My grandfather as he lay dying recalled the hidden catbirds from his childhood, how they sang in the thicket of an empty house every morning as if their hearts would break, as if they knew the treasures of heaven lay in every clear note they tendered to the world.
The famous battle of Thermopylae, which took place in 480 BC between a massive Persian force led by the King Xerxes and a small band of Greeks headed by 300 Spartans and led by the popular King Leonidas is the subject of 300. Thermopylae (“Hot Gates”) was a narrow pass near a hot springs.
In Religious Ed a nun once told us, “You should always make the sign of the cross before and after you pray. The first gesture opens God’s wavelength; the second shuts it off.”
I wonder if the sister knew how many nights I would lie in bed, panicked, wide awake unable to remember if I had signaled “Roger and out.” Odds or evens—heaven or hell. I crossed myself without stopping, hoping to land on evens or at least to interrupt the feed before memories of Linda Ursoni’s blouse and her fully developed fifth grade breasts bubbled forth from the back of my pubescent mind.
Even as an adult, I find myself playing the same game, while hoping that someday I might cross myself one last time and be done with it, but the deep need to hide always follows— in the name of the Father, and of the Son . . .
Those who discovered Joanna Newsom’s full-length debut The Milk-Eyed Mender (Drag City, 2004) fell without exception into two camps: either they ran screaming from her Betty-Boop-on-helium voice and tales of bridges, balloons and beans or found themselves enchanted and amazed.
Are you really? Underneath the snows of winter, do you blossom on and on? Do the pocket gophers crave you, tunneling beneath that blanket, pray to enter your secret chambers, rest inside your open gates?
I see your flowering, fruiting clusters, hanging on into October, leaning into the open path, making way, ushering whatever is holy into the presence of things that stay.
A tiny figure of Martin Luther has become the fastest-selling Playmobil toy of all time. The initial supply of 34,000 sold out in 72 hours. The figure was produced for the German and Nuremberg tourist boards in anticipation of the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation in 2017. A German official attributes the popularity of the toy, 95 percent of which were sold in Germany, to parents wanting their children to know history. It took three years to sell 80,000 figures of Albrecht Dürer, a German painter of the Renaissance era (Newsweek, February 12).