Siskin, Sister and kin Siskin, Whiskin, Siskie, Whiskie, Pusskin, Whooshkin, Our names tumbling, adoring, Affectionate, light-filled as your fur. Your fur: White, personal-warm, soft, gleaming Bright as sunlit snow, Fragrant as woods, Thick for losing stroking fingers. We met across the species divide And found you wanting nothing But a simple ride: Food, warmth, affection, A sill to look at the moon, Your rent a display of content and for a stroke or a comb a purr of entitlement. Purrkin, Softkin, Sleepkin Where are you now? Siskin of the large vocabulary Meaow became hellos through the night: Hallooow Ha-a-lloo-aw, “Siskin: Shushkin.” Then through the day finding a lapkin yes, there, purrfect Yes, risk a hand below Siskin loving thiskin then whizkin, time to go. And feed me now, Naow, Siskies biscies I mean it, Na-OW Not long a hungrykin, Oh tubkin, pudkin Where are you now? Siskin friskin in the sunkin, Exposing your tumkin. Siskin risking shitting in the seed bed, “Siskin Stansfeld: No-oh, ahoy, no-oh.” Increasingly deafkin Coming in grubkin and rubkin, But always lubkin. Siskin, dear siskin Where are you now? We buried you among oak roots In a picnic basket With your wind-up mouse For the kitten in, And a sprig of lavender, Blood weeping from your nose But your fur still warm, Shining on, glosskin Oh siskin, misskin, final kisskin, Where are you now? Siskin of the no worries kin No future or pastkin Relaxing in each moment you were in Siskin, blisskin You live on in your teaching.
Someone has sprinkled shining mosaic fragments in the car park. Om.
Gentling myself out of the frame, and back to: translucent witness.
Janet and I spent this morning watching the wonderfully named ‘silver-washed fritillaries’.
Here comes one:
She’s a female.
She’s drinking nectar on a blackberry bush
This is what she looks like underneath and why they are called ‘silver-washed’. They are Britain’s largest fritillary and seem to be having a great year.
Here she is again, fluttering her wings to attract a male.
…….and here he comes:
You can tell he’s a male because of the four black stripes on his forewings. These are sex brands. When he finds a female they go on a lovely nuptial flight together flying over and under each other.
Then they land together and circling around her he tries to touch her antennae to his sex brands to arouse her further.
Here he seems about to succeed … or could they be heading for a … butterfly kiss?
We hope he was successful and that they had wonderful sex – for another generation of these awesome insects.
The hot orange joy of them quite took our breath away.
Allah, Christ, God, Hu, Krishna, Great Spirit, Me, You ... no hair between us.
Dont look for spirit in the past, or the future, but here. Here! Right now!
Letting go into each moment. Practicing for the dying moment