Morning Song

I heave my worries, imprisoned in my prayers — resistant, reticent, rebellious — onto the morning like a blight. Twenty blackbirds are holding vigil with me as a choir of songbirds sing. One takes flight and its path flees any known hindrance. The mind of a bird is as free as its will to fly. She just finds herself flying. There is no consternation, no concentration, no thoughts contradicting. With slippery ease, she slips into the sky with no notice of gravity pulling downward. No strain. No acknowledgment of pain. No question of successful upward gain. In her wake, all hazards wane. 

Written by Stephen Williams on July 30, 2022 (c) all rights reserved

I will remember my song in the night; 

I will meditate with my heart, 

And my spirit ponders

Psalm 77:6 (NASB 2020):