The cloud had darkened, and the lane lengthened,
as my dragging feet walked the dusty way home.
My fears were growing and the worry charging
me with the cost of my acuity. The news was bad.
Travelling slowly, saddened and searching, I heard
nearby in a green, thorny thicket a few grams of
feathers, bones and flesh rustled and fluffed, then
interrupted my daydream with a loud, clear call.
A wren, with his hoisted tail, blew my sad and
gloomy thoughts away as he swelled and music
trebled from his tiny throstle, thrilling me and
retuning me to life in that sacred hopeful place.
Somewhere else a bird sang to his love with
zees and another performed an aria, atop a tree.
They are bastions of creation, holding in their
prayerful songs of praise the glory of their God.