Healing I was named for the bird who, by the hundreds at small local park, early spring dawn

and late autumn mornings, turn East to face the sun and by pushing out their breasts to greet that fat orb, soak up the rays that make their feathers red as the wounds of St. Sebastian; russet as the apple left on the edge of the teachers desk; crimson as the maple leaves who, when broken free of their branches, twirl down to the ground, a little girl pirouetting into the sun herself as she dances free of the gnarled branch, converts into a two-winged pod before hitting the earth and becoming the seed that propels itself into the soft mud where next spring, she will rise: a Greek myth and make her own tree, where the birds may gather, discuss flight patterns, navigation, old times

Robin Rule November 21, 2011 The Caboose on Catherine Mendonesia, California