An Offering

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

Pour forth

 

Her body is no bigger than my hand

But her voice seems to completely fill

the still morning air

 

Watching,

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.

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