There is a little bird outside my living room window who sings a song on repeat every morning, and every evening, too. She knows only one or two notes but she sings them ever so cheerfully and faithfully. I think she wants me me to know her song, and I do.
This morning, I finally got a peek at her and discovered she was a robin red breast. So yes, a common bird with a common song, nothing special. And yet, she really is special because she sings her only song with a loud and strong voice that wants to be heard. And she is. Her singing is not ever in vain, she is heard.
She must be hard at work with her nest building and preparing for little ones to come. Or maybe they are already here and she sings for the joy of it. She is a beautiful bird who knows who she is and makes no qualms about it. And when she rests her voice I know she is dreaming of the songs she could sing. Common as she is, she is a thing of beauty for those who hear her. I wonder at how many common things we pass all day long and never seem to notice. If only we heard the beauty or saw the wonder of each little creation, it would stack up to a whole lot of exceptional.
There is nothing common in the simple beauties of the day.
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| Young Girl with a Bird: 1891 by Berthe Morisot |
