I woke to the Beatles this morning, courtesy of Alexa’s wake-up setting:
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
When I opened the back door and stepped out into darkness, I heard real blackbirds singing.
They’re back, so spring is here, even if it snows tomorrow. Robins and mourning doves arrived a week or two ago, and now blackbirds, singing in the trees and gobbling up sunflower seeds at my bird feeder.
They join the chorus of cardinals, scolding blue jays, soaring eagles, raucous crows, sonorous geese, sparrows, chickadees and all the brave birds of winter. And the turkeys. If you follow my Facebook or Instagram, you see lots of turkeys, because they are large and unafraid and easy to photograph.
Birds give me joy. And hope.
I remember hearing, back in the day, “One day, their chickens will come home to roost.”
That was a cautionary saying, meaning that the bad things you do will have consequences, kind of a grandparental version of “Some day you’ll get yours!”
Now I see the eagles and turkeys and swans and herons coming home to roost. In their return, I see not payback for the damage we have done to our shared planet, but undeserved grace. Therein lies hope.