As the day closes, turns dim in the forest, my soul wells up into a chitter of praise. I offer a song of the magnificence of life, of this day, of this blessed moment — this elongated blink between day and night. Let me hold on, hold out for the great sun that brightened and fed me ceaselessly, as I moved and and breathed and flew in its warm, comforting, nourishing rays. Let me call to the impending dark, the cool, the cold, the shadow, that envelops me in rich cycles of unknowing and trust. And here, still, in the midst, caught, with such a swelling of grace and praise and grief rising from me, there is nothing but an aching song, a bright song, a sure holding out for all that is beautiful, all that enlivens me and holds me in this space and time. It’s just a chirp, a small offering, that falls back into the silence of time. Nevertheless, it rises and swells and I sing and praise and pray for all I am worth. I am the throat of the universe extolling the greatness and grimness of all things.
As a bird in the redwoods