Winter Bird

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When my heart

becomes the

winter bird, shivered in the

cold and grey

solitudes of

melancholy, I turn to a

stark deliberation:

First, I walk,

out

into the unbound spaces and

with each step remembering

the quiet genesis of my faith.

Second, I work,

setting my hands to the real of the

commonplace in unadorned moments of

steady toil.

Third, I stand,

in gratitude for the

share of this world I am

given to; to tend, to mend, to

want for nothing less than

revelation. As you will see,

the winter bird is no

stranger to the

drawn acoustics of

emptiness. So

fallow, so shallow, at a

time for no words to be

spoken but “hush now…

walk, work, stand,

listen”.

And in that dark

Silence, for the one

with inward ears to hear,

there will come in the

unforeseen hour, a

song fit for the

downturned and the

embittered no

part of which the

sun would dare disparage.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit…

blessed is the winter bird!”

And through each, the

winter birds of this strange and

beautiful creation,

there is a gospel

being

proclaimed; some

sole and holy

refraction of the

great light of the world.

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6 thoughts on “Winter Bird

  1. Gosh this is beautiful. I’m a winter bird too much, even by summer, and I get discouraged with myself for being that way. This tender picture, of the tiny bird and the “hush now,” stirs me to be gentler with myself. And the hope at the end, don’t get me started on that! I also loved “to want for nothing less than revelation” – the idea that there is profound to be found in the simple tending that we do. Thanks so much

  2. Oh thank you dear friend – this has been the season of winter for me, just starting to remember the spring – so very grateful for your words and the fellowship of other winter birds. Beautiful.

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