Edited by Gloria Lee
THEN BLUEBIRD SANG
slipped a little tremble
out of the triangle
of his mouth
and it hung in the air
until it reached my ear
like a froth or a frill
might have written in a dream.
with so many angels of mercy
so wondrously disguised
in feathers, in leaves,
in the tongues of stones,
in the restless waters,
in the creep and the click
and the rustle
that greet me wherever I go
with their joyful cry: I’m still here, alive!
~ Mary Oliver
Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser; Eastern bluebird (Sialia sialis)
Posted on Facebook by Jamie K. Reaser
by Siegfried Sassoon
Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight.
Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away … O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be
“Everyone Sang” by Siegfried Sassoon, from Collected Poems: 1908-1956.
Speak, mountain, my feet are listening to the song of your paths.
I don’t need to free-climb sheer cliffs, or find the breathless nothing at the peak.
Mid-way is enough. To saunter upward all day is what I love, a pilgrim with the
bees, toward snow-melt streams that gush through purple penstemon and
columbine, where the alpine aster slow-cooks in the photons of God’s face,
a blue moth folds her pouting wings on the lupine – we all need places to grieve
this brief gift – and I discover again, as if in the beginning, high places where