Listen for the bird songs. . .

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

 I stepped outside early this morning for no particular reason other than I could not sleep any longer.  The sun was still tucked under the covers of the eastern horizon.  Even so,  the sky was slowly lightening and the birds were tuning up.  They seem so loud early in the morning while things are still and grey, as if they are out of place, ahead of their time, prophesying that yes, another day will begin soon, no matter how unlikely or undesirable it may seem as we escape from our yesterdays under the warm, dark covers.

In times like these, it is helpful to listen for the songs of the birds.  Sometimes the songs are painfully annoying, sometimes peacefully soothing, sometimes solo, sometimes choral, sometimes melodic, sometimes just plain awful.  Sometimes it seems as if the songster is perched on your shoulder, allowing no escape from its message; other times it is so faint that this most quiet song is the one that finally makes you get up to follow its sound until you can hear it clearly.

Sometimes it seems like the darkness of night will not end.  The light of dawn is reluctant to rise. But even in the darkness, the birds begin to sing. 

Maybe the events of the past few weeks seem too dark for hope to survive.  And there is no doubt there is darkness on display:  violence, injustice, hatred, greed, corruption, prejudice, racism, hypocrisy and, the list cannot be exhaustive, just exhausting. You know the darkness. We all know the darkness. The darkness of the big world around us. Or maybe we are dealing with a more personal darkness.

But while we are yet in darkness, the birds sing.

Listen for their songs. They may seem insignificant.  But the birds still sing in the darkness, promising, prophesying of a new and better day.

It's a beautiful Saturday morning, so get up and get out.

The birds are singing.

Join them.

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