PHOTOGRAPHER'S JOURNAL: On NPR this week I learned that migrating song birds, not only travel by night, but that they navigate by the stars.
Aroused,
thrust through dark mud,
tubers,
subterrestrials,
touch and probe
their bottom empire.
Then,
folded and furled,
tucked and pleated,
infant tissues
spiral out,
unfold in spring waters.
Lily pads,
they seem so simple.
Origami nightmare
to put them back,
or redirect
their solar collection.
