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July 11, 2007

morningglories.jpgWhy I’m up at 5:30 in the morning.

My friend pk, who is blessed with an inability to appreciate obscure poetry due to a candidly confessed inability to take it in, assured me that mine was no exception. So did another friend, but aa thought obscurity was a view of the transcendent, and so potentially a good thing. I couldn’t use that for a pass because I didn’t understand it, so I didn’t post the new poem. My husband would have had override, because he understood and liked the poem, but then, we have a longstanding twin language, so he’s on to my obscurities.

But I think pk distances the obscure for a very good reason. The logos is logic, and logic must be plain, discernible, penetrable to some meaningful point. The Logos Himself is transcendent; what he truly is we have not seen. But mortals are not meant to dwell in the transcendent sphere, though they are at times permitted glimpses. Art is a category I innately distrust because I think it encourages trespass and unauthorized lingering where perhaps atmospheric logic is too thin. Nevertheless, language and symbols fascinate me no end, and outside of plain, telegraphic journalism, I suspect this fascination is best not imposed on public view. But I do stand by Moonbat.

In the course of the chat with pk, we thought it good to be more prepared for prayer, and more ready to pray in the mornings. There was an implicit mutual encouragement to this in the offing. But I confess that is not why I am up. I’d prefer not to be up. Being up early this morning means that the sleep lost to the coyote chorale two nights ago has not been recovered. It means my Cat’s howling frequency opened at 5:00 a.m. because the food he snubbed during the night was not fresh enough to suit him now, though he would deign to eat it anyway, if he could eat it from my hand. But I was awake anyway, because of the hawk.

A keenly alert hawk, I think a female merlin, is nestled in a wool shirt in a box on our deck. The hawk has a broken wing, and she looks at us very fiercely. We gave her a dish of cat food for the night. I called PAWS last evening to ask what to do with a hawk with a broken wing, but they have not called back. I believe they are affiliated with some wildlife rescue people. For some reason, my husband and I hold out hope that someone will actually drive down from Lynnwood to Tacoma (that’s an hour and a half, for you feriners), pick up the hawk, and bring her to a place where insanely dedicated people will surgically repair her broken wing. I have a boxload of veterinary tape on hand, but it seems broken wings require very technical surgery. We couldn’t just leave the hawk to die by coyotes and cats. Well, of course we could: that’s life in the wild city. But we interrupted the forces of nature this way and now, in tort lingo, have commenced a duty.

Now my fear is that rescue people from PAWS will not come, but federal agents will. No doubt we have violated some obscurely written or unwritten federal law against putting injured hawks in boxes to protect them from the environment we have disrupted, which favors opportunistic coyotes and unmitigated proliferation of feral cats. But I tend to be fearful when I’m coming out of twilight sleep. Probably no one will come and the hawk will stay in her box on the table on our deck and my husband will make a decision this evening.

An early morning breakthrough. I don’t have a decision to make concerning the life course of the hawk. She is a creature, she can groan on her own behalf as well as I. The poor thing awaits redemption from all this because of the breach of sin, as well as I.  And my wise husband will know what to do, far better than I.

Good grief, it’s already 7:20.

One Comment
  1. Janet permalink
    July 15, 2007 8:23 pm


    I often think of how the animals suffer because of our sin, and it breaks my heart.

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