October 28: "A Question About Birds," Puppy's Favorite Toy, Universal

When I throw my puppy's favorite toy, I see her joy when she snatches it out of the air.  When I sit on the couch in the living room at night, I hear my son's joy as he plays video games with his friends.  When I walked across campus to teach this morning, I passed two young men walking together, holding hands, joyful in each other's closeness and love.  When I ate a blueberry muffin my wife made this afternoon, I tasted joy.

Joy needs no translator.

Billy Collins goes birdwatching . . . 

A Question About Birds

by: Billy Collins

I am going to sit on a rock near some water 

or on a slope of grass 

under a high ceiling of white clouds, 

and I am going to stop talking 

so I can wander around in that spot 

the way John Audubon might have wandered 

through a forest of speckled sunlight, 

stopping now and then to lean 

against an elm, mop his brow, 

and listen to the songs of birds. 

Did he wonder, as I often do, 

how they regard the songs of other species? 

Would it be like listening to the Chinese 

merchants at an outdoor market? 

Or do all the birds perfectly understand one another? 

Or is that nervous chittering 

I often hear from the upper branches 

the sound of some tireless little translator?

Of course, the catalyst for joy is different for all creatures.  I can't feel joy over a fat earthworm, but a robin can.  I will sing Billy Joel's "Captain Jack" at the top of my lungs every time I hear it, but my son makes me turn off my music when I drop him off at school in the morning.  Some evenings, I watch rabbits graze joyfully on the grass in my backyard, the antennae of their ears twitching for danger.

Some afternoons, I walk down to Lake Superior to listen to waves as I eat my lunch.  That brings me joy.  Tonight, I listened to an arrow of geese flying overhead, and their joyful blats and honks sounded like a New Year's Eve party.  Even autumn leaves spinning in whirlwinds look like kids on a merry-go-round, dizzy with joy.

While Collins wonders if birdsongs need translation from one feathered chanteuse to another, I think joy is pretty universal--I recognize it everywhere.  That doesn't mean that I'm perpetually joyful.  However, it does mean that joy is as abundant as oxygen.  Take a deep breath, and you can taste it.

Saint Marty is now going to joyfully brush his teeth and watch a little Hocus Pocus on Disney+.