Once upon a time when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated. ~Terry Tempest Williams
I have not heard the song of a bird this morning. Not the coo of a pigeon nor the chirp of a sparrow, nor the grating scream of the gull on the wing scavenging the detritus of humanity. It is strangely absent on this glorious last day of Spring, a day cool enough that I can comfortably wear a long sleeve shirt & purple bow without having to worry about feeling clammy.
It’s a couple of hours post dawn – the birds have completed the morning task and sung the day into existence when their trills enticed the sun over the yonder horizon. I feel joy on the wind. Thank you Bird people for reminding me today is yet another day to celebrate existence. Mine, Yours, Humanities.