Such Singing In the Wild BranchesIt was spring and I finally heard him
among the first leaves
then I saw him clutching the limb in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness-
and thats when it happened,
when I seemed to float, to be, myself, a wing or a tree- and I began to understand what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass stopped for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward like rain, rising, and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing-
It was the thrush for sure, but it seemed not a single thrush,
but himself and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds in the perfectly blue sky-
all, all of them were singing
And, of course, yes, so it seemed so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last
for more than a few moments.
Its like one of those magical places wise people like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true, is that,
once you've been there, your there forever.
Listen everyone has a chance
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick then - open the door and fly on your heavy feet;
the song may already be drifting away.
Mary Oliver - from Owl and Other Fantasies
