When the song bird sings,
She puts her whole body into it.
High up in the crabapple,
Serene and unblinking one moment.
In the next blink, mouth agape
Her whole body is convulsing
As sounds of summer
Her body is no bigger than my hand
But her voice seems to completely fill
the still morning air
I think I see the build up, anticipation, effort
And the joy of release
I hear the song as celebration
And as offering
A gift of voice given to the new day
I give thanks.
And I recommit
to leaning in with my whole body,
to pausing with utter stillness,
to raising my voice
to offer the song that is mine to sing.