It's been raining a lot here. And by a lot, I mean all. the. time. Ok, the sun does shine from time to time, but more often than not there is some sort of system brewing and some sort of precipitation in the forecast.
The other day I was laying on the couch, listening to the rain pounding against the windows. I am often more tired and in more pain when the weather is changing, so the couch and I were fast friends that day.
What became interesting to me, as the rain showers started and stopped and started again, is that every single time the sound of raindrops subsided, the sound of birds singing took over. As one faded away, the other began as if a radio DJ was playing a commercial during a break from the regular programming.
There was rarely so much as a pause after every single storm before the birds sweetly sang once again. They sang to welcome the sun and celebrate the reprieve. They alerted everyone to the beauty in the aftermath.
But what did they do when it was raining?
I tried to picture them hiding in the little wren house I have hanging next to my patio door, or securing their safety by nestling in the branches of a bush laden with leaves. Did they tuck their beaks and hide beneath their wings? Were they afraid of the storm and later singing because of their gratitude for having safely survived?
Or were they singing all along?
Were they singing through the storm?
Were they singing, and the rain pounding on my windows drowned out their voices?
Were they singing, always joyful in the middle of the storm, even when I couldn't hear them?
That's the bird that I want to be. That's the song I want to escape from my lips. That's what I want you all to know in those times when you don't see or hear from me.
As I often skip a Thursday of posting when the previous three days of writing are all I can muster. When I'm quiet on Twitter because rest comes before tweeting. As I am still tackling an inbox full of emails that go back an entire year... emails I am determined to get to but are falling silent right now because I am digging my way out of them.
Even when there are storms of pain or illness or exhaustion that keep me from being heard, I want you all to know that my beak is not tucked under my wing.
I am not hiding, nor am I silent.
Sometimes, you just can't hear me from the sound of the storm beating on my window.
But I am always singing.