King David, there are songs
in my own heart that need to be sung
and I can’t sing them to anyone.
Strains the tree trunks make
when it’s quiet enough to hear,
and Cottonwood leaves and branches that abandon their music
to the changing forces of time and weather-
these are my teachers as much as you.
Dogs barking on either side of my house, somewhere in the distance,
communicating all the goings on of their people, or who knows what dogs talk about!
Birds calling out what they will each bring to supper.
Wind chimes in the window, fairly constant. subtle ting-ting-ting.
Traffic humming like a rolling ocean,
and I’m the one holding the shore.
These waves of
wordless language
assure me
that what I thought I needed to sing
already resounds,
and only needs my quiet
and appreciative listening.
asingingtree 