Early Birds Sing Me A Tune

Feb 10, 2014.  6:00 A.M.

Just when I wanted to pick a fight
With a God that collects its paycheck
Without ever showing up for work.

"How can you stand by
And watch
A daughter long exiled
A sister permitted to discard emotional ties
A father typically wooden,
But now bending and swaying,
Willing to be plied;
Eager to be used
By a mother conniving,
Spiraling out of control
With truths hidden
And secrets untold?"

-15 degrees C outside,
Over 10 ft of snow on the ground.
And yet the most beautiful bird calls
Exchange
Between a talkative pair
Gracing my front yard.
On and on they go
As if to take turns
To sing
To comfort
To stay near me.
Only me.

Is it true?
Can it be?
That for once
God strives to
Break down my walls,
Penetrate my indifference,
Establish Her presence,
And feel the need
To prove Her existence?

For a minute, I am awed,
I welcome the image,
I ready myself to cautiously open
The floodgates to my heart
One teeny bit.

Until,
Until
Google searches
Set straight my perspectives.
"Winter birds all.
It's still winter,
but the light,
The changing light,
Has a hormonal trigger
That starts the birdsongs",
reminds John Hanson Mitchell.

I remember
To put my faith
In established facts
That rarely let you down.
To put my faith
In the rythmn
Of light and day,
Night and dark,
Spring and seasons all.
 
I smile.
I laugh.
I shake my head.
And go about my day.

But 'tis the morn
Of the day next in line.
6:00 A.M.
Silence.
6:15 A.M.
Only the muffled sounds
Of traffic in the early hours.
6:30 A.M.
The waking smell of coffee
From our kitchen.
Yet no sight nor sound
Of my avian angels.
Where are you, my feathered friends?
Are you out playing God
In another's front yard?


(C) Copyright Malathi Raghavan