Tiny Paradise

I don’t know anything.
I just watch these birds in childlike wonder.
Two little wrens
in the leatherwood
outside the porch,
a flicker,
working its way down the walnut tree.

Oh, they lift my spirits.

The world beyond
is a crazy place.
The news not only dampens my spirit,
it makes me contemplate
anti-anxiety medication
just to cope with it.

But these little birds
on this rainy, drippy morning,
this lush green,
in its infinite variety,
(oh and now a mourning dove
in attendance on the wire above)
it is as if they have all come
to pay homage to my distress,
to give comfort.

I know none of this is true.
They only hang so close
because they can’t see me here,
hidden and silent.

But it’s something, isn’t it?
The way they show up,
day after day,
generation after generation,
believing this tiny paradise
is everything.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith