July 21: "While I Am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer, the Meadowlark Begins to Sing," Insect-Song, Alleluia

Mary Oliver sings her anthem, her thanks, her alleluia . . . 

While I am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer,

the Meadowlark Begins to Sing

by:  Mary Oliver

Sixty-seven years, oh Lord, to look at the clouds,

the trees in deep, moist summer,

daisies and morning glories

opening every morning

their small, ecstatic faces--

Or maybe I should just say

how I wish I had a voice

like the meadowlark's,

sweet, clear, and reliably

slurring all day long

from the fencepost, or the long grass

where it lives

in a tiny but adequate grass hut

beside the mullein and the everlasting,

the faint-pink roses

that have never been improved, but come to bud

then open like little soft sighs

under the meadowlark's whistle, its breath-praise

its thrill-song, its anthem, its thanks, its

alleluia.  Alleluia, oh Lord.

Yes, summer is a time to say thanks and alleluia.  Because the world is warm and blooming with green-song, bird-song, insect-song, star-song.  It's really easy to be grateful for days that are so full of life that everything seems to be singing.  

It's Friday evening, and I am beat.  I'm not feeling, at this point and time, very thankful for anything except the fact that it is the beginning of the weekend.  But Saturdays and Sundays simply bring a different kind of work for me.  Tomorrow I play the keyboard at two different Catholic churches in the afternoon.  Then, on Sunday morning, I play for a Lutheran church.  I will spend most of the day tomorrow practicing music.

But I will sleep in a little bit tomorrow morning.  Won't set an alarm.  Maybe I'll go for a walk when I roll out of bed.  Take in some of the sun and birds and flowers and trees.  Say a little "alleluia" for them.  Or maybe I'll stay in my pajamas, have breakfast, and read a book or write a poem.  I could say a little "alleluia" for that plan, as well.

When I started typing this post, I had every intention of writing an anthem to summer, just like Oliver.  Alleluia for the sun that doesn't disappear from the sky until well past 10 p.m.  Alleluia for the green, green grass in my backyard, and the rabbits that feed there.  Alleluia for a sky so blue that it could start humming "Blue Bayou" in Roy Orbison falsetto.  Alleluia for crickets tuning up for tonight's midnight concert.

However, I'm a little too drained for all those alleluias.  

Instead, I'm going to finish writing this post, publish it, and then dig into the couch for the rest of the night.  Maybe find some classic old movie like Casablanca or The Breakfast Club on a streaming service.  (Yes, The Breakfast Club is almost 40 years old.  That makes it eligible for classic status.)  And I'm just going to . . . not think about anything.  

Can Saint Marty get an "amen" and "alleluia" on that?