I turn down our tree-lined streets,
    the empty branches reaching skyward
    yearning skeletons just now beginning
    to show signs of new life, the groans of
    creation tuning up like an orchestra
    preparing to play a new symphony.

    Yet, the trees have not been silent all winter.
    Their shadow song is harder, but a melody
    nonetheless. The strains of pain and silence
    are not easy playing or listening, yet an essential
    movement to inform the resurgent joy that
    comes with recreation, reawakening, rebirth —

    and I am Nicodemus, wondering how we, as
    collective Creation can carry all our weight
    and worry back into God’s womb and come
    forth singing a new song. Biology breaks down
    in ways melody does not. We aren’t going
    back, but forward, from womb to womb,

    birth to birth, song to song, from God to God,
    moving symphonically from stark to lush,
    from solo to emsemble, from pianissimo to
    forte and back again. Newborn babies cry –
    as do widows and orphans, the homeless and
    the hopeful: tears are our shared melody.



    1. Milton, that is just lovely.

      Biology breaks down in ways melody does not. That’s a comfort to a church musician definitely feeling her middle age! 😉

      We share a love of Madeleine L’Engle, and it seems that she’s whispering in your ear a bit. She was wonderful at weaving music with theology, and so are you. Thanks for this.

    Leave a Reply