If I keep a green bough in my heart, then the singing bird will come.
One green bough. One song bird. One heart.
Today my phone is working again. I'll see what tomorrow brings.
It's Easter, Passover, Spring. It's the time for resurrection, release and renewal.
I read a lot of journals. I enjoy reading people's news. Some journals take on serious issues and stomp for some righteous cause. A few stomp for some unrighteous cause. I read them anyway.
I've been told that Vagabond Journeys is silly and without substance. Maybe it's because I don't take on serious political and religious issues unless they relate to some historical scenery. It isn't that I don't think about those things, it's that as one solitary individual, alone in this community of writers, it is the hope and plan of my journal to send as many sparks of light as I can into a world of troubles and struggles, and not to light destructive fires.
When I got my phone on this morning there were 8 messages on there, most of them threatening calls from law firms. They will all be handled one way or another But not now.
The only things that impact and influence my journal writings are personal observations, the conditions of my own life, natural curiosity, the thoughts of the wise and the otherwise and a constant yearning to understand and appreciate beauty.
Walking home from an errand yesterday I came upon a small tree growing out of a plot of earth on the sidewalk. The sun was shining joyfully through its array of small pink blossoms with dark red fingers pushing out the ends of its branches. It was breathtaking. It was by itself on the sidewalk, There were no other trees around. I stopped to admire the gleaming light of that small tree and touch its pink blossoms. It was beautiful.
As I approached home I stopped again to listen to a solitary bird in the tree behind the house. It was chirping the sweetest song, all by itself, singing because it wanted to.
What is it that would keep one from noticing these things and enjoying them? Is it the snarling and hissing beasts of trouble and worldliness? If so then it must be fear, and someone, even if all by himself, should offer an antidote to that fear, should extend a green bough for the singing bird.
So call me silly and without substance. It's easy to say don't be afraid. But that's not good enough. I know about fear. I know how it can darken the clearest sky and silence the prettiest music. It can grip the mind and the emotions and even turn into hate, if not faced down. It is fear that says hope is dead and buried, there is no escape and we are destined to life's cold winds and bare branches forever.
But it is Easter, Passover, Spring. He is risen, the Pharoah has been left behind and the tree is blooming. So weep for your troubled life, by all means. Tears are sacred things. But then hold out your heart for the singing bird.
DB - The Vagabond