singing the old way home

When you sit quietly outside for some length of time, you can choose what you hear. Building sounds, traffic, children playing, birdsong. Some noises, no matter how loud, will fade when you choose to focus on others. Lately, I've been listening most of all to the birds, who tell of coming weather, and nest-gathering, and the shifting ways of the neighbourhood.

I have within me my own birds, little bone birds, with manuka leaves for feathers and eyes dark as the evening wind filling all the spaces between hills.

If I listen to them singing, I hear so much about myself that is otherwise lost behind other, outer sounds. I tune out the hammering and drilling that is other people trying to build a scaffold around me. I don't notice the sounds of lives I'm told I should be living instead of this I have made for myself out of driftwood and odd repurposed things.

And maybe no one will want to hear my song. But this is something age teaches a woman : it's better to be true to yourself, and remain unheard, than to have attention for being someone you're really not. Because other people are not there in the late darkness when you're whispering the day down into dreams, and other people are not there when you breathe gently on a new-kindled story, and other people are not in your heart, singing the true way home to you.


  1. Your words are beautiful as always. This reminds me of the book Skellig that my son read for school recently. A quick read, but full of wonder and listening <3

  2. So beautifully put! There is a roar on the other side of silence, as George Eliot once wrote.

  3. I want to hear your song, and love what you share, Sarah. Thank you.

  4. -happy sigh- Wisdom, said so beautifully....


  5. What you have written here is right and true.

  6. I love to hear your song when I sit listening...

    Perhaps this is another way to think of blogs?