Continued introspection, as I straddle the line between last week's exhiliaration and this week's exhaustion - thought the following relevant for more than a few reasons. Every evening at dusk, the neighborhood birds gather on trees a few blocks from my home, to roost through the night - in passing, they appear to be giant white magnolia blossoms... until one rustles a feather or decides to relocate. "Grace will be ours" indeed - when I revel in the magic of this sight, I truly believe it already is...
POEM: Why I Need the Birds by Lisel Mueller
When I hear them call
in the morning, before
I am quite awake,
my bed is already traveling
the daily rainbow,
the arc toward evening;
and the birds, leading
their own discreet lives
of hunger and watchfulness,
are with me all the way,
always a little ahead of me
in the long-practiced manner
of unobtrusive guides.
By the time I arrive at evening,
they have just settled down to rest;
already invisible, they are turning
into the dreamwork of trees;
and all of us together —
myself and the purple finches,
the rusty blackbirds,
the ruby cardinals,
and the white-throated sparrows
with their liquid voices —
—ride the dark curve of the earth
toward daylight, which they announce
from their high lookouts
before dawn has quite broken for me.
QUOTE: “A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song.” ~ Maya Angelou
QUOTE: “A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song.” ~ Maya Angelou
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