As life returns to the lands (and waters)

Yesterday evening we were visited by four whitetail deer in a far corner of the field behind the house. This morning the dogs and I did indeed walk to the pond north of the house. There we unintentionally flushed a pair of wood ducks from the open water. Midday today we noticed a small flock of turkeys pecking away in the same area the deer visited yesterday. Warmer weather and melting snows are bringing critters in search of food and nesting sites. Soon we can look for bud burst and nest building.

migrating wood ducks on a pond

Photo by J. Harrington

Are you familiar with the story of blind men describing an elephant? I’m at a point of thinking it applies to all our individual and collective attempts to understand and describe the reality of our existence and purpose on the earth in an expanding universe. It seems that a good part of the problems are captured in the saying about the devil is in the details. Plus, too many of us, too often, forget that there is more than one path through the woods. Not that I would ever be guilty of such parochialism!!!!

Tomorrow, for those who observe, is Easter Sunday. For all who follow the Gregorian Calendar, it’s the last day of March. Monday is April Fool’s Day and, purely coincidentally, the start of National Poetry Month. For many of us, the best times of the year lie ahead. We hope we all get to thoroughly enjoy them.

The Silent Singer

Len Roberts

The girls sang better than the boys, 
their voices reaching All the way to God, 
Sister Ann Zita insisted during those 
     practice sessions
when I was told to mouth do, re, mi,
     but to go no higher,
when I was told to stand in back 
    and form a perfect 0
        with my lips
although no word was ever to come out, 
the silent singer in that third-grade 
     class
during the Christmas Pageant and Easter 
     Week, the birth and death 
        of Christ lip-synched
            but unsung	
while my relatives, friends and parents
     praised my baritone,
     how low my voice was,
Balancing those higher, more childlike tones,
     my father said,
Adding depth, my mother said,
Thank God they had my huskiness to bring all
     that tinniness to earth,
     my great-aunt whispered,
so I believed for many years in miracles
     myself,
the words I'd never sung reaching their ears 
     in the perfect pitch, the perfect tone, 
while the others stuttered in their all-too-human
     voices to praise the Lord.

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