Mockingbird in Winter

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

All winter, Mockingbird, in his steel-gray

suit, perches atop the tangled thicket of

multi-flora rose, swallowing bright red

rose hips and awaiting the next blessed moment,

brief as it may be, when the sun stirs

a drowsy insect awake and into a fine death.

It’s a rather odd thing to watch him in silence,

mine and his. We both have so much to

say, and hearts that have forgotten need translators.

I wonder about words pulled from the voice of

the world and words pulled from within.

Are they so different?

You give us the instruction:

“Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

I’m sitting with that, as the mockingbird sits not

far from my window pane, fluffed and

elegant, and fully aware that I am watching him.

And, maybe too, he knows that I am wondering.

It can be hard to speak without contempt for

this self-led world, but he does it all summer long.

And, I try my best.

What is it like to shake off shell fragments and

become the great celebrator of life?

~

I think the mockingbird needs another name.

And, I want to tell it to the world.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"
Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

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