Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser
It is daybreak and the Carolina wren calls
out from the thick of old boxwoods that stood
around a log cabin and someone else’s lives with
a loud, cheery greeting that has defied the
intricate telling of at least two poets.
They won’t sing it either. But, they know how to
pay attention, appreciate, and praise a thing.
Anything. And, this is what he is doing too. This
bright chortle must be praise. Maybe it is for
daybreak. Maybe spring. Maybe simply the fact
that he has a song when so many have forgotten
theirs. It could be that it is about tasting a morning
seed, or little jumping spider, or simply that it is
with song that he tastes this life. Poets can do the
same thing with words. We won’t starve. Praise
satiates. I want to believe that we all have some
way of coming alive each morning and care to do it,
to taste this life, and have the courage to say there
is something holy inscribed in all of it. It’s not
necessarily about bread or wine. It doesn’t require
formality. You can be rascally about it, like the wren,
like some poets. Guess which ones.
There is a wren in the boxwoods next to me.
I have a cup of tea. And, I’m so grateful
that I couldn’t contain myself.
© 2016-2017/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press
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