Good Morning, 2013

Possibilities

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

possibilities.

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)