Ah! Bright Wings!
Back home from the West Country. It was very much an avian
Easter. I had no sooner arrived in Devon than—incredibly, because they are not
often found in Devon—a nightingale began to sing. It sang all through Easter
weekend and beyond. Our trip to Cornwall was cancelled because of a dead car
battery, but once it was replaced, we headed to Exmoor and hiked to Dunkery
Beacon, the highest point in Exmoor topped by a Bonze Age barrow. Along the way
we heard a cuckoo calling, and there were skylarks everywhere. All three of
these birds are rapidly vanishing from the English countryside, so we felt very
privileged. After we returned to the car we drove to a small wooded area on the
other side of the beacon where we heard another cuckoo. We were very lucky with
the weather: it was a gorgeous day, with wide views and towering cumulo-nimbus
clouds making their stately way across the pale blue sky. When I returned to
Oxford I discovered that there had been rain for four days; I fear that I have
lost my tomatoes, alas. While they have good drainage they can't take the
constant wet without developing stem rot.
Our Easter fire was enhanced by the presence of a couple who
are friends of my hostess. They brought an 18th century family bible
to read from. We had the fire in a small paddock above the house, away from the
dogs (who last year shouted in objection at being locked inside while we sang),
but high enough to give us a view over the surrounding countryside. Again we
were lucky with the weather: the sky was clear, the evening still—though
blustery winds had been forecast. The midnight stars bent low over us while we
cast incense on the fire, lit the paschal candle, sang the Exsultet, read the
lessons and said the prayers. Then we informally processed to the house to
share bread and wine with the paschal candle in the lead. It was difficult to
talk at first, but we wanted to emphasise that what we were doing was ordinary
life as it should be, saturated with mystery.
It was a most blessed Easter. I hope, Gentle Readers, that
yours was as well.
posted by Maggie Ross at 8:07 pm
2 Comments:
Hi Maggie!
and he pours forth such song
the one sun comes rising
to hear its praise.
Looked up skylark. It seems to be quite similar to the meadowlarks found in western north America. No bright yellow breast. Not so many around as there used to be; systematic habitat loss is SO clearly the primary factor for decline.
just this one sun is rising. know what I mean?
Namaste
mike
I was sitting quietly today and as I sat, there was the hum of the traffic outside and the sound of a bird singing in the midst of it - it struck me that the 'busy road' with all its noise could be a useful metaphor for the self-conscious chatty mind (always taking the same well-worn routes) whereas the bird singing represents the deep mind (the garden of Eden) that forever 'sings a new song unto the Lord'. The birds (creation) are forever Tweeting wisdom, it's a shame that we're too busy twittering to hear/notice the love song that they sing!
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