Sunday, January 29, 2017


The small birds in my yard
are not aware of world events
unless on some subliminal level
I cannot perceive.
They sing regardless,
not immune to the frozen sleet 
that blankets the grass,
not indifferent to the murky clouds
hanging on the horizon,
not unaware of the taciturn cold,
and not in spite or because of—
they sing because it’s what they do;
the chickadee in flit mode 
among the lilac branches,
the blue jay screeching from a treetop,
the nuthatch marching headfirst
down a crenulated trunk,
the cardinal dropping liquid notes 
into the air.

The pulse of life that throbs in them
throbs in me,
the songs they toss into the daylight
reverberate in me,
the joy of sunlight, of blue sky, of scattered seed
are mine, too,
a reminder that life in the midst of life
is mine for the noticing
a feast, a concert,
a hand held out to me by the world.


Wisewebwoman said...

I was feeding my assembly this morning and thinking along those lines. Beautifully said.


Molly Bon said...

This made me think of "Look at the birds of the air..." They sing in cloudy weather and in sunny. I want to have faith that the universe will deal with him and it'll all work out. Meanwhile he cannot deprive us of the everyday beauty of nature, of flowers, of trees, of birdsong.

Out on the prairie said...

Headed out to bird watch after lunch. Lovely thoughts felling the reverence nature has to offer.

Pauline said...

WWW - feeding the assembly gives me great pleasure. I am trying to enjoy those moments as they happen (or as I make them happen :)

Molly. I agree. Those pleasures are ours for the noticing.

OOTP - and you record them so beautifully!

Hilary said...

"Liquid notes." How beautiful is that! You always capture a moment so beautifully with your words. And your camera.

Pauline said...

Thank you Hilary - We two are a mutual admiration society ;)