It concerns me that I don't altogether do as much with my blog as I'd like to. Sometimes it's circumstantial and sometimes it's motivational, the reason I let it slip - as if it weren't adequate to my needs, or as if it were a pain -
- but having Willy Wagtails pirouette, I remember what got me here.
For as long as I remember, being able to see something beautiful when it seemed like others only saw ugliness, when I could see order when others could only see disturbance, was a quality I understood wouldn't perish. 
Out of the rocks and the foliage, on all of her legs, the beautiful Zara apprehends her part in the day; 
a bit of rope on the side of a ladder waves itself out, though it knows it holds a ladder together.
A photographer, such as the one seen here, has had a painter in his house and has had to move furniture around to make room for the process of painting. The painter is supposed to be making an improvement, but he may be only making a change.
If you look closely enough you can see two little beaks pointing out of the Willy Wagtails' nest. Their lives, as are all lives, the multi-layered lives, are lived in trust that the good will return, whatever change is afoot. Though I am technically wingless, I shall go for it.
