Song In The Trees

Sometimes, when the cool morning breeze
is just right, all the noise in my mind is 
napping, and I sit perfectly still in
the green slatted rocker on the
back porch, I hear a song
floating through the oak
trees down the hill.

It rises and falls like a lullaby sung
in a loving whisper as the infant's
eyelids give in to sleep.  There are no
words, not even an easily discernible
melody.  Some mornings I just want to
hum, be part of the song I do not
understand.  An inherent invitation calls
me into the musical mystery.

I dared to try yesterday.  As oak leaves shook
with delight at the wind's appearing, an
irresistible invitation became too
strong to ignore.  I opened my
mouth to sing and breathed
in the missing pieces of
my soul.

I sit most mornings now on the back
porch anticipating the sun's welcome
arrival and those charming musical
notes dancing with oak leaves and eager
branches.  I still don't know the song,
but it seems to know me.