Life near the Zagyva

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Every day, when I bike or walk to school along the Zagyva, something catches my attention: a blackbird’s song, a stork, a row of fishermen, a family of ducks, a red poppy among the dandelions. There’s a fisherman in the picture above. The bridge is the one I cross to do my basic shopping; I just walk across the river.

Right now a storm is starting; here’s the balcony view from just a few minutes ago. I have the balcony door open and am enjoying the sounds of thunder. Minnaloushe is relaxing on the coffee table.

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There’s a strange simplicity about life (along with a complementary complexity) when you don’t really know the language that is spoken around you. On the one hand, you walk in beauty. On the other, you know you’re missing a few fathoms of reality. I am understanding more and more, but it’s like taking an eyedropper to the sea. I would rather have the eyedropper and sea, though, than one without the other, or neither.

But certain things, like the strutting of a stork, speak their own language, leaving us poor humans agape in equality.

 

Image comment: Some of the trees in the first picture appear in the blog’s banner photo. A month ago they stood in water. Now they are grounded and green.

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