Droppings of Light

I sat myself down
on the stone floor 
of the East porch

to scrape up the
pile of bird droppings
deposited there by
the winged occupants
of the porch column.

"You were once beetles,
and crickets,
and worms
and bugs."
I said to the droppings.

"Now you're just
bird crap dropped
atop a porch floor.

A stinking mess
to be swept up
and thrown away."

And as I got busy
scraping,
a gust of Northern 
March wind 
blew off my baseball cap
 
and unsettled
the nearby underbrush
where a bed of
dreaming peonies
lay sleeping in the
hush of the early spring.
 

And I carefully picked

up my cap - which 

had the bad luck 

of landing in my

dust pan

~of poop scrapings~

And in the work 

of shaking it clean,

the scrapings took on

an entirely

different form. 

"You were once among

my deepest wishes
my yearnings
my heart's longings"  

I said to them.

"Now you're just

My fears.

My mistakes.

My regrets and failures.

My droppings of Light."





 
"What if you're not really dead and gone forever", I wondered to myself


What if - like the droppings in my dust pan - you're just awaiting another spiral of rebirth and transformation?




So I brushed the droppings
from my dust pan and spread them 
onto the bed of flowers below. 

 "You may reek now." I said to them.  "But in time, you'll make the 
early summer Peonies  
bend and bow 
under the weight 
of so much bright white fragrant bloom."




"The rain and permeable earth will join you in sacred partnership until you've bathed and nourished the roots 
of all who slumber in this flower bed; who dream of a summer that has yet to come.
 



 



May you live on
in the heart of a butterfly

and fuel the beating wings 
of hummingbirds in the garden.
   

May my neighbors gather
for a hint of the vision and the scent of their own Divinity."

Leave it to Nature

to make

everything -

even bird crap.

my crap.

precious.

copyright 2012,2013 WhisperingBird

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