Biophilia, if it exists, and I believe it exists, is the innately emotional affiliation of human beings to other living organisms.
Edward O. Wilson
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My grandparents place: a refuge for a city-raised child, filled with woods, hidden ponds and creeks with a gravel road meandering through 300 acres. My days there filled with leisurely walks, Grandmother often accompanying me to point out black-dotted frog eggs in puddles or deer feeding on fallen persimmons in a hidden, neglected grove . . . but I’m often allowed to roam free, all by myself I explore, one day encountering a pair of turkey vultures who pause only to offer a passing glance at my approach . . . they seem so huge from my ten-year-old perspective: menacing black monsters with wrinkled necks and scrawny heads the color of the blood they feed on. Standing frozen with fright, then with fascination, I watch . . .
road kill—
a delicate dance of wings
over ripped flesh |
Reminiscing now, I wonder if this chance meeting sealed my bond with the avian world, a bioaffiliation that I follow yet into old age . . .
autumn twilight—
and still the whir
of hummingbird wings |
“A Wilsonian Tale” was published in a delicate dance of wings (Winfred Press & Clinging Vine Press, 2003 – 2010.
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