vestigial ovenbird I am not a bird. At least not yet. But I have vestigial knowledge animating the twitching muscle fibers of my body and it takes only a small electric jolt to bring it into full expression. Men of science once thought that ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. We now know this is only a half truth at best but I don't need whole truths, fragments will do. It's good enough to believe that in some embryonic form my body contained the possibility of flight. Now I'm building a nest. My fingers find twigs and strips of cedar and moss covered branches and intuition lets me weave them into something rife with potential. I build something big enough to hold an eternity of dreams. I line the bottom with rabbit fur and hummingbird feathers, cattail down and cottonwood snow. I don't know what will gestate here but I can feel ephemeral forms taking shape in calcium carbonate wombs. A yolk of hazy memories feeds a host of rapidly dividing cells until something curls in upon itself and looks for a way out. I lend my warmth to the quickening spark and wait to see what will come into my care, and whether it will, in its own quest for survival, let me live or or take my life to feed its own. 250711 what's it to you? who go blather from