The dance of the shining blue bird

Breathing and Mumford and Sons in my ears
and then you are there, in my being
oh, special shining blue bird that I love so much
sitting on a rock in the swimming place
flying off down the river
surely all the dog-walkers in the world
can hear my shout of acclamation.

I know that all is gift and all is beauty
but shining blue one that I have not seen for too long
and whose normal name in these moments I do not know
you bring a giant leap to my heart.

Running up the hill past the railway
there is the price to pay for your gift.
The shining blue sky is above me
and I am so happy that my opening heart hurts
and my tears stream down.

Here is home and I am warming down
with Mumford on this shining new morning
while my shadow on the wall frolics with me
in the dance of the shining blue bird.

 

I spent a couple of years enjoying (much to my surprise) running every few days on a circuit near my house – till my hip complained, and I had to stop. Sometimes I would listen to Mumford and Sons on my mp3 player, a rather surreal backdrop to fields and river, and northern moors. One time I saw a kingfisher on a rock, and was extremely happy. But sometimes to be very happy is also to be in pain, as the heart stretches in an unaccostomed way. Still, this is not a cause for complaint, but for celebration. Gratitude to kingfishers, and to young men who make heartfelt music.

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