Among honeysuckles

h

     Yellow dripping down 
here and there whirring wings

    Scented honey bells

Outside my bedroom window is a full honeysuckle vine we planted a year ago. In the mornings I’ll often sit at my computer and will hear the whir outside my window, lookup and see the little wings jutting here and there among the flowers. Arizona is one of those migration sites for several distinct hummingbird species. Yet some stay year around: White-Eared, Cinnamon, Berylline, Violet-Crowned, Plain-Capped Starthroat, Lucifer, Bumblebee and Allan’s hummingbirds. Less rare, the Broad-Billed, Blue-Throated, Magnificent, Black-Chinned, Calliope, Broad-Tailed and Rufous hummingbirds also are summer visitors. Look for Anna’s and Costa’s hummingbirds in the winter.

The most well-known species, the Ruby-Throated Hummingbird, has its habitat in the eastern half of North America and ordinarily will not be found in Arizona.

Ashi Akira’s blog has lovely haiku poems and one on Gardenias made me think of my honeysuckles. Something about poetry that awakens one’s affective relations to the earth in a way that philosophy can only hint at. Poetry is the song of our emotive selves, the power below the threshold that reason never understands nor captures in its cold powers. Poetry is our escape and our true affective source of livingness in the world. Without poetry one is but a dark dreamer in a dystopian flux of meaningless images. Poetry brings one back to what is alive in one’s being. Without poetry one is truly dead while being alive.

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2015 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

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