Trumpet Call

A young girl in her Easter finery

skipping through the park,

twirling an umbrella and laughing

at the kaleidoscope of colors the spinning creates

reminds me how simple things,

like colors flashing in the sun,

would bring a joy that, once,

long ago it seems, would wash over me

to lift my spirits out of an emotional ditch,

filled with the detritus and silt of past hurts

and worries of the future,

that I would seem to fall into,

again and again.

Age and responsibility kept pressing on my shoulders,

leaving me bereft of smiles and happiness,

furrowing my brow with the lines of worry,

fear and anger, that many mistake for age.

A finch sitting in an old oak tree warbling its songs

understands more about this world than I do.

No future, no past, just an ever-present now.

Was it age that silenced that simple joy?

Why do I sit, cozened by an old religion

into waiting for a trumpet to sound,

calling me away from my worldly cares,

to be happy again?

The thought of that trumpet’s call

suddenly makes me laugh,

as I realize the song of the finch

and the little girl’s laughter

are indeed, the clarion call to happiness

I have sorely missed for all these years.

Ten words from a friend, Allison: trumpet, wash, bereft, silt, finch, umbrella, oak, finery, ditch, lift.