March 2008

Something is different this morning.
I wake to the same grey day, same cold day;
searching through the bedroom window I see
the same snow covering the ground of the backyard.
But this day feels different and I don’t know why.
It’s the sound of this morning
that holds the change.
I can hear it...a bird’s
song. Must be a returning bird,
that I hadn’t realized
was ever gone until I heard its return.
The morning song of an ordinary robin
becomes enough to make a woman get up out of bed,
walk down the hallway, and spy around the corner
looking for hope.


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