The Wood Thrush’s Song
Daily, the abyss drags me down into its depths.
I try to stop my slide by finding refuge
on its ledges but it usually wins. I wake
to face the day with trepidation. What will happen
that will drag me down farther? I go about my day hoping to find the rope that will pull me up.
Walking down the hill, I hear a faint call.
Could it be a Wood Thrush singing its flute-like song?
I stop to listen; yes; it is the thrush. I feel the rope
descending towards me, finally stopping to tug me up
into the sunshine and cool mountain air. I will carry
the thrush’s song with me throughout the day
keeping me above ground.
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2025
