What do the tall trees say
To the late havocs in the sky?
They sigh.
The air moves, and they sway.
When the breeze on the hill
Is still, then they stand still.
They wait.
They have no fear. Their fate
Is faith. Birdsong
Is all they’ve wanted, all along.
This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems by Wendell Berry
An introduction to today’s post was impossible to write given the difficulties this year just keeps on giving. We will keep moving forward because we must. There is so much to do! And yet, I hope we can all take moments to step out of our sorrow and listen to the birdsong.
The Cozy Burrow 
I like that each year the birds come together, build a nest, lay eggs, feed the babes and then let them fly, just to start over again next year, no knowledge of politcis or envirnmental catastrophies, they just keep going… lovely poem.
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Thanks, Cathy. Nature finds a way to keep doing its thing and I find a lot of comfort in that!
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Perhaps “be like a bird” is a good mantra to repeat when the anxiety takes over.
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I love this! Except now I’m singing that Nelly Furtado song from the early aughts, “I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away…”
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This poem and your comments reminded me of the poem I Worried by Mary Oliver:
https://clinicalaffairs.umn.edu/covid-19-updates/i-worried-poem-mary-oliver#:~:text=I%20worried%20a%20lot.,and%20if%20not%20how%20shall
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well, this was just lovely! Thank you! I haven’t read much Mary Oliver, but she’s on my list!! 🙂
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