Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Good Morning, 2013


A small gray wren,
plump from early spring feasting,
perched on the trunk
of a gnarled old willow still in its
winter skeleton, and chirped her
contentment with the world.
Except for her song I might not
have noticed her there,
so plain and easily overlooked.
She stopped for a moment and
jumped higher, to the stump of a
limb pruned away last year,
before beginning another chorus.
Silhouetted against the cloudless
morning sky, she sang her song of
thanks for a day such as this.
She has only one song, and it doesn’t
matter who is listening. She has
perfected it because she sings it
every day.

Except for my song, you might not
notice me, here among the
monotony of sagebrush, perched in
an ordinary white house with plain
gray trim. Many songs coming alive
in my soul, imperfect little chirps at
first, awaken it to all the
Stronger as the unnumbered days
go on, my songs arise and are born
a part of me, and yet apart from me.
On a day such as this, what can I do
but sing from every branch
in all the trees I can find?

(Pamela Williams, 2002)

1 comment:

jww said...

So beautiful!!!