A Rush from a Thrush

(Wood Thrush - Photo by Steve Malowski, USFWS)

Such Singing in the Wild Branches

Mary Oliver

 

It
was spring

and
finally I 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
that's 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.

It's
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,

you're
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.

 

The Wood Thrush of North America has a song some
describe as hauntingly beautiful.  As a child I walked frequently alone in the
woods and though this bird sang just for me. 
Whenever family confusion got stirred up on our home and my soul needed
comforting, to the woods I went to hear a reprieve.  I'd enter the doorway of trees with heavy
feet and after a walk singing I'd leave the woods flying.  The song of a bird tells us all that we all have
a chance for liberation, even the most tortured, even the torturers.  Within the deepest recesses of the fractured
human dilemma of competition versus collaboration, and care versus harm, we are
hauntingly beautiful.  May you hear such
a song of freedom today.

 

If you could give yourself a new chance
today, what would it be?