All The Good

 

Waking early,
grumbly,
agitated,
irritated at the dismal quality
of interrupted sleep,
I begrudgingly filled the water buckets, and
reluctantly headed to the barn, 
when the wood thrush's song
stopped me in
my tracks.

He who had not slept,
who had flown who knows how far
through the darkness, 
who had finally set down into these woods
at first light,
was singing.
No sleepy murmuring, he,
but a full-throated song that
pierced my self-pitying doldrums.
"Pay attention!" he nudged.
"Remember all the good!

All the good given,
day in and day out,
to those willing to receive it
into their being.
Soul lifted and 
eyes opened,
I stepped into
the morning made new,
once again.