An Exaltation of Frogs
by: Billy Collins
I know it's supposed to be larks,
but their full-throated croaking
early this rainy morning
after a night of more rain
is lifting me slightly off the floor.
I think all of us experience moments like this--times when we're filled with inexplicable joy or longing or fulfillment. As if we hear angels singing in a winter sky, reminding us of the beauty of the world. In today's poem, it's the singing of frogs, but it could be anything for you or me. The wet nose of a dog nudging your hand for attention. The last Christmas buckeye. A book of poems. Whatever the catalyst is, when the moment arrives, it lifts you off the floor, as Collins says.
I would call it the power of grace.
When my friend, Helen, passed away, she left behind an unfinished manuscript of poems that she'd been shepherding into book form. With the help of one of my (and Helen's) best poet friends, that final poetry collection was published last year. Helen's family donated the proceeds from the sales of that book for the establishment of some program in her memory. This afternoon marked the kickoff of that program.
I had the privilege of leading a teen poetry workshop at the library. The participants who showed up fairly glowed with youth and enthusiasm. They listened and laughed and shared. We told them about Helen, how she would have loved every minute of their company and talent. I could almost picture Helen in the room with us, perched on a chair, barely able to sit still as she listened to what the kids wrote. Helen would have been lifted off the floor by this exaltation of young poets.
It was a moment drenched in grace. I was reminded of why I love poetry so much: how words can be exaltations, too. Vehicles of transcendence. I'm hoping the kids felt a little of that grace, as well. The feeling has stayed with me all night.
Saint Marty's feet still haven't touched the ground.
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