The cloud had darkened, and the lane lengthened,

as my dragging feet walked the dusty way home.

My fears were growing and the worry charging

my mind with images and misery. The news was bad.

—

A person walks on and carries with them their past,

the nightmares and traumas, failures and fears

grasp the future and weigh down our dusty feet

and our prayers cast, like a horse shoe clatter, 

—-

availing only to sadden our searching. Then I heard

nearby in a thorny thicket a trumpet call come,

tiny fluffing feathers, bones and rustling leaves,, 

a clarion interrupting my grief and hopelessness.

—

A wren, with his hoisted tail, blew my sad and 

gloomy thoughts away as he swelled and music

trebled from his tiny throstle, thrilling me and

retuning me to life in that sacred hopeful place.

—

Somewhere else a bird sang to his beloved, holy

zees while another performed an aria atop a tree.

They are healers of creation, holding in their 

prayerful songs the praise to the glory of God.