Song birds are silent as they wing their way
unhindered through a clear and naked air
but when, wing-wrapped, they weigh
upon a branch, they breathe a morning prayer.
Either body or voice will rise in song
but never the two combined.
For we flightless, this seems strangely wrong—
to divorce the hands from mind.
But the feathered declare themselves right
for their delights are not divided; they are one.
They glory in the unmingled joy of flight
or beckon from bed the slumbering sun.
By wing or tongue they are equal awed
for in each they feel all the pleasures of God.
Notes on why some birds don’t sing and fly simultaneously and why they choose to sing at dawn.
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| Small Bird on a Branch of Kaidozakura, Hiroshige, 1848 |