25 May 2020. Towhees on Tacoma.
But that is one place I notice them in particular--maybe because I'm just getting started with the walk, setting out up towards the hills, and everything's fresh. Towhees go with fresh, I think--or is it just my association? In the morning, for example--I'll see movement outside the window, and sure enough, it's a towhee hopping about at the edge of the pine needles, where the ground opens up towards the terracotta bowl. Some water there from when I filled it this morning--and some luxuriant gray=green moss growing nicely between the bricks.
Started Tu Fu last night, after David Hinton's introduction the night before. Gazing Up at Sacred Peak, "For all this, what is the mountain god like?" How much I'd forgotten--this world he's created. What a pleasure to enter it again. Anticipation...
But can we ever know, really? What's in the mind? The skein of thoughts and connections so elaborate and vast--even when they're at their simplest--so that we trudge along, lightly, on the path...
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This world he's created. Three meanings, I see now--first, the mountain god, then the poet, Tu Fu --and then David Hinton, in his translations. I was thinking of Hinton, but the ambiguity serves a purpose...
