The Carolina Wren

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.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"

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