This time of year we are granted a special treat — birds singing! Mornings are arrayed in sound — chirping, calling, crackling — as an aerial symphony fills the sky. Likewise, at dusk you needn’t switch on any technology to enjoy a good tune; just sit outside to absorb a free concert. Talk about surround sound!
Barbara Crooker in her playful poem Sanctus considers the gravity of listening to birds. She posits in the ordinary sounds of goldfinch, wood thrush and mourning dove the presence of more. These gifts from the sky become windows into the holy. Even the title Sanctus (Holy) turns us to reconsider what we hear.
That’s just a bird chirping, nothing more
Hearing the Holy Spirit
Sometimes we have our feet too firmly planted on the ground. What is….is just what is. “That’s just a bird chirping, nothing more,” we find ourselves demanding. The poet may not jolt us out of this ‘flat footeness.’ But, she is trying: a mourning dove as ordinary as daylight calling out to you, bearing the voice of the Holy Ghost.
I’ll tip my hat to the poet and the deep sense of life she witnesses. She’s not far from the empty tomb or the dry life suddenly restored or the myriad of people no longer imprisoned by sameness.
What a grace note indeed!