I want to leave to you,
My grandchildren,
This wren from Down,
Its cotton-wool soul,
Wire skeleton, feathers
Apparently alive,
Its tumultuous
Aria in C or
Whatever the key
In which God exists.
— Michael Longley, Another Wren

I learned that Michael Longley has passed, and realized that I’ve never quoted a single poem by him in this blog. To do so now, after his death, is one way to keep his voice alive. But then, don’t all poets transcend the fragile timeline of life? We all ought to write more, as a gift to our own grandchildren and their children beyond.

We get so angry at the world and the failings of mankind that we ignore the music playing in the background while we rant. It turns out to be quite beautiful when we return to stillness and hear it as if for the first time. We owe it to ourselves to discover the miracles hiding in plain sight. We become like the Marshall McLuhan analogy of fish in water, not realizing what they’re swimming in. Friends, we’re swimming in miracles. Have a look and a listen.