From Shaman’s Circle, 1996, by Nancy Wood
The bluebird and I were friends, the kind that depend on one another
to reaffirm life’s patterns and to embrace the cleansing wind.
He awakened me with a song each morning and in his voice I recognized
his wider experience of rising above difficulty to reach
The purity of clouds and wind and sun. In my garden I offered him
water and seed and acceptance, never knowing if he understood
My simple gifts were meant to praise him. Then one day upon the ground
I noticed a single bluebird feather. What deeper gift can a bird
Give than what enables him to fly? Or to sing the song of his creation
to me, forever rooted to the ground?