This Morning

My friend Pam gave me a book of Mary Oliver poetry called Devotions, and now that I’m done with Regina’s book, I’ve started reading one of Mary’s every morning.

The poem today made an impact:

This Morning

This morning the redbirds’ eggs
have hatched and already the chicks
are chirping for food. They don’t
know where it’s coming from, they
just keep shouting, “More! More!”
As to anything else, they haven’t
had a single thought. Their eyes
haven’t yet opened, they know nothing
about the sky that’s waiting. Or
the thousands, the millions of trees.
They don’t even know they have wings.

And just like that, like a simple
neighborhood event, a miracle is
taking place.

As I wrote in my journal, I kept going back to the line:

They don’t even know they have wings.

I feel there is a personal meaning for me in that line. Where are the wings I don’t know I have?

Admittedly, I was nervous about January coming. I felt that it meant getting into the fray again.

But Thursday was a peaceful day. There were things to figure out, and I did. I stayed calm, enjoyed everything I did, used my resources, asked questions, asked for help. Yes, all the things I reminded my student to do over the years.

I woke today feeling great. Ready. Strong. My eyes were open. I can allow miracles.

And on the way to an appointment, an eagle flew over Summerlin Road right in front of me, and on into Lakes Park, prey hanging from his talons. It is the second eagle I’ve seen in a month. It reminds me that Spirit is with me always. This morning. This afternoon. While I take out the garbage. While I cook dinner. While I sleep.

A new year is upon us. We all have wings. May they lift us high over the next 12 months.