The birds sing at Pleshey: bright notes winging,
Swinging through the trees. Professionals as they work,
They play hide and seek amidst the plethora
Of green, green, greeny-grey leaves. Their joyfulness in new lives
Living beneath their wings only emphasises the frustrations
Of my inadequate communications;
Especially when theirs is so rapturous and fills me with delight
So that I am happy to be in the garden,
Loth to go indoors and lose their laughter in the silence.
Inward life is accessible when the will so seeks:
Divine reassurance within the soul – Without in Otherness;
Within reach, a constancy, an intimacy, known but unfathomable;
A fecundity of Spirit mirrored imperfectly in our beautiful,
Fertile world brimming full of life. And my cup overflows with Christ’s wine:
His song that must be heard though not completely understood.
“Go out into the world, My World, and love Me.”