Posted by: Peadar Ban | August 22, 2009

Interrupted Song

Grumbling
Like some old dog in a corner
A single thunderstorm settled on the day
Already heavy, hot and wet.

Serious rain began.
Silk curtains of steam
Rose from baked asphalt
Soft as gum from
Days of heat.

Very serious rain, sheets of it, fell
Flattening heavy flower heads,
Limbs full of dark green leaves
Creating streams, carving canyons in the mulch.
The old oak angling overhead in angry wind
Above the roof of this old house
Threatened to give way.

At last the flimsy
Umbrella twirling in wild wind
Just a while ago above a table on the deck
Slowed, settled, stopped.

Light pierced gray armored sky.
A piping jay returned, while little
Wren began again its
Interrupted song.

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Responses

  1. Nice discription of the wren; there are many Irish and Highland songs attuned to nature speaking of the happy small birds . I love to see the birds and heart them when I swim in the back yard (I am lucky enough to have a modest pool which is a great luxory; it means I can swim almost every day for six months of the year or more)

    • We have a lot of wrens around here. Perky little birds.

  2. Lovely, lovely poem. Could have been our backyard last Thursday afternoon. There we were, expecting to celebrate the Eucharist in our little outdoor shrine.. in its own way an interrupted song. Except — sometimes I feel that our Mass interrupts something yet more precious. Just above the waterfall and pond that serves us as a font, and the tiny wax eyes as a baby bath the Black Birds have nested.. we watch them feed their young but very discretely, ourselves hidden behind a tree, or the wind shelter we have set up. No wrens though. Linnets, chaffinch – ah. Such a song!


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