The Singing Bird Will Come

Today is my first day without going to work in several weeks. It isn't always like this, but now is the "season" in our area if you are in the hospitality industry. We have learned to do more with fewer people and resources. Not all learning is good.

I didn't realize how stressed I was until Tuesday. I went to an auto repair shop because one of my headlights wasn't working. It is dark when I leave work, and for several evenings I was a little nervous during the drive home.

This was not your typical auto repair place. It was a wide open space with just a few chairs along the windows. They were of wood, not plastic, and were polished and shining. The art consisted of enlarged photographs of orchids, and there were a couple of paintings of island scenes. Live plants in lovely pots were here and there throughout the room. The only sounds came from the water feature on an unobtrusive table in the corner. No TV. No radio. No - not your typical auto repair shop.

I stood by the uncluttered counter, behind which was another fountain with running water. A plaque with the symbol for Harmony was next to it, and above were two framed sayings. One said something on the order of:  The quieter you are, the more you will hear, and the other:  If you have a green tree in your heart, the singing bird will come.


When the woman presented my bill, I told her I wished I was not in such a hurry because it was so calming in there. As I said those words, tears ran down both my cheeks. I was embarrassed. Yes -- I now realized I was obviously, definitely stressed.

I suddenly wanted to clear everything from my office, everything from my home, everything from my mind, except the necessary and the beautiful. I don't have time, I don't have time, I don't have time, I kept telling myself. And as long as I keep saying that, the more I will believe it.

Somehow we find time to do the things we really want to do. Today I could have gone through drawers and thrown away old paper, but instead I baked some banana-nut muffins. I could have boxed some clothes I no longer wear to take to the local shelter, but I sliced some strawberries and opened the curtains and lazily listened to the rain. And there are many other things I might do this afternoon, but sometimes doing nothing is the best stress reliever for me.  Even God rested on the seventh day.

Sound Thinking

It's raining this morning, and I find listening to it soothing. Sometimes I don't even know I need to be soothed until it is happening, and I feel a greater sense of calm come over me. Even the sound of the word soothe is like its own ointment. It's fitting that it rhymes with smooth. Maybe there is something about the double-o in the middle of words that has this effect -- the cooing of a baby, the cooling of a breeze, the hooting of an owl, the wooing of a lover.

I can think of a few more sounds that calm my spirit -- the crashing of waves against the seashore, the crackle of  fire in a fireplace, the call of  birds as they fly overhead, the wind as it whispers through the trees.

And I wonder how other things would sound if only we could hear them -- a seed as it sprouts, the sun as it sets, a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

These thoughts remind me of the following poem. As I read it, preparing to copy it for this post, I am overwhelmed -- particularly by the last line. How could it possibly be said any better? But then again, that is what makes a great poem, a meaningful poem, a poem that you will never forget.

What The Dog Perhaps Hears
by Lisel Mueller

If an inaudible whistle
blown between our lips
can send him home to us,
then silence is perhaps
the sound of spiders breathing
and roots mining the earth;
it may be asparagus heaving,
headfirst, into the light
and the long brown sound
of cracked cups, when it happens.
We would like to ask the dog
if there is a continuous whirr
because the child in the house
keeps growing, if the snake
really stretches full length
without a click and the sun
breaks through the clouds without
a decibel of effort;
whether in autumn, when the trees
dry up their wells, there isn't a shudder
too high for us to hear.

What is it like up there
above the shut-off level
of our simple ears?
For us there was no birth-cry,
the newborn bird is suddenly here,
the egg broken, the nest alive,
and we heard nothing when the world changed.

Somewhere On Time

This morning, a layer of early morning fog promised serenity and calm as I rounded the corner from home. Silhouettes of tall pines against the mist spoke mystery, and the sky was still salmon and coral, tinged with violet and a color I can't name.  Oh,  how I wanted to park the car, put on my sneakers, and traipse through those woods to find a well-worn path. Or maybe one not so worn.

But I had to be somewhere.  On time. And somewhere was somewhere else.

I purposed to wake early tomorrow, pray for the same weather conditions, and round that corner again. Will I? Can I? Or was that a moment to be appreciated for just the moment it already was?

Somewhere On Time
silhouettes
appreciate
time
serenity
calm
fog
somewhere