Lauds

During the spring full moon, the neighborhood mockingbird is seldom quiet.  

Perched at the top of the tallest tree, he sings to a Beloved that is not yet seen.  

He warbles, chirps, and cries, practicing scales, pitches, even whistles -  all he has ever heard. 

He is David dancing; his body cannot be stilled.   

In darkness he announces what birds and the Beloved understand.  

He boasts of a fine home, food (surely even mockingbirds eat; they cannot live by song alone) and water. 

 He may also be singing of neighborhood cats - there are a few, but tells 
his love to be they will be kept safe. 

He sings of children not yet born. 

He is a psalmist in his temple-tree, singing his song of songs. 

Mother Wisdom has readied all.  

  

   

My beloved speaks and says to me: 

Arise, my love, my fair one, 

and come away; 

for now the winter is past, 

the rain is over and gone. 

The flowers appear on the earth; 

the time of singing has come. 

  

Song of Songs 2:10-12   

say, March 2019