A Simple Gift

Seven or eight years ago I was walking a very difficult stretch of road in my life.  A profound sadness over a great loss in my career hung upon me and bent me under its weight.  I was visiting Taos, New Mexico, running one morning, pounding along the dusty dirt roads between scattered junipers and short, humble piñon pines, washed over with air fresh and pungent with the scent of sage.  Yet, neither the sight of Taos mountain shimmering against the intense blue sky, nor the clean fragrant air at 8000’ were enough to dispel my gloom that morning, which bordered on despair, and had burdened me for weeks.

A few miles along, I found myself approaching a large bush, as big as a Volkswagon bus.  A twittering chorus of birdsong was broadcasting from it.  A birder since way back when, I slowed, approached the bush and looked, but no bird was to be seen!

Inside, though, a great diminutive uproar was going on.  Tiptoeing closer, I very slowly poked my head between the branches.  My pupils dilated into the shadows, and slowly I beheld dozens of tiny bush-tits, not much bigger than golf balls, hanging sideways and upside down from the twigs. They were all around my head, above, below and to the sides.  They were plucking miniscule somethings from the undersides of the leaves – insect egg cases? — feeding and singing as they ate.  The birds were intent, content, and wholly oblivious to my presence, though I was within inches of them.

I was struck first by how very small they were, tiny, graceful beings full of delicate movement and music.   It was their extraordinary innocence that struck me next, a sort of essential, incontestable goodness.  And with their innocence came the very essence of sweetness, the same sweetness I’d felt sometimes in the presence of little children or puppies.

I caught the eye of one of the birds, tiny, yet bright, full of life. It pierced me.  The simplicity of these tiny feathered creatures’ stood in such contrast to my weighted and convoluted mind, confused heart and complicated circumstances.  I laughed out loud.  The sudden ray of joy pierced my sadness and the relief was an epiphany.  This was a laughter of relief, the laughter of waking up from a troubled dream.  The birds were conveying something real to me about the world, something subtle, but pure and tangible.  It was tonic, healing, awakening.

I don’t know how long I stayed watching them, but when I at last continued on my way I was hopeful. The black clouds had lifted to a surprising extent and there seemed a way forward, with a ray of sun on my path. This lightness of heart was not fleeting. The cheer lit the days to come.

Read Poem of the Week:  Finding Life