Birds

“The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.” - J.M. Barrie, The Little White Bird Robins, wrens, sparrows, quivering, yet silent, still on limbs and branches, boughs, heavy with rustling leaves, their feathers brilliantly flaunted, in cloaks of crimson, indigo and lemony yellow, creating music with arms, soft wings singing to the shattered trees, in altos, sopranos and gentle tenors, laughing, chattering, chortling, teaching the skies their cozy songs… wrestling with the crisp of winter, hesitating on the melody, alive… more alive than the breathless winds, shivering through the oaks and pines, washing away all the sun’s spun wishes, singing light on the ridges, murmuring joy and peace and love, in angelic voices, lifted in praise, silencing the grief, the pain, the heartbreaking in the distance, the heart breaking, like a whisper… birdsong, bird’s song, alive and warm, in tones of hope, poured out like the sun, gentle and fond, adoring, worshipful, rising to the skies, tender falling over the promises, the fanciful reflections of a love, who is peaceful like the dove, bird’s reassuring, in hues, all colors, rising and susurrant,… praising, praying, promising forever spun on gold threads of light, softly falling on shadows, restoring the life, resurrecting insights, inspiring, imaginations, alive… so alive, the bird’s sing and, while the night, so silent, presses in on the soul,… we are remembering the call of hope, peaceful and praising, every praising, like the wind through the trees, the singsong breeze, each bird trembles with the need, to please, simply please, singing to the One who erases the dark, fills the heart and silences the shame, as the heart continues to pray, and praise, oh, how they praise, singing like the love who stirs life, inside each story, inspires love that is ever worthy.