The Daily Respite
The Daily Respite
April 27, 2023
29
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April 27, 2023

29

Good morning!

It’s Thursday. Yesterday morning I headed outside to feed the birds, as I always do—although who am I kidding, most of the seed gets stuffed under the house by the squirrels. Anyway, I’d taken only a few steps when I heard a sound that stopped me in my tracks. A sound as seasonally symbolic as the first spring peepers, but far more spine-tinglingly magical at its core. I heard my first hermit thrush of the year. Usually it sings alone, but yesterday it had a whole bird chorus keeping it company. (Tap the right-pointing triangle up top to listen.)

This is a fine time to revisit Mary Oliver’s poem, “In Our Woods, Sometimes a Rare Music.”

“Every spring
I hear the thrush singing
in the glowing woods
he is only passing through.
His voice is deep,
then he lifts it until it seems
to fall from the sky.
I am thrilled.
I am grateful.

Then, by the end of morning,
he's gone, nothing but silence
out of the tree
where he rested for a night.
And this I find acceptable.
Not enough is a poor life.
But too much is, well, too much.
Imagine Verdi or Mahler
every day, all day.
It would exhaust anyone.”

― Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings: Poems

Onwards,

Clara

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The Daily Respite
The Daily Respite
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