Purple Martin

The early morning is cool and sunny. The walking trail has been shaded by huge oaks, elms, and ash trees, the path shimmering with light and shadow. I come out of the shadows and suddenly it is there: Purple Martin Place, 76 Purple Martin houses on poles reaching for the sky, each one labeled with a number. “ In my father’s house are many mansions” and a host of chirping Purple Martins flying out across the large open field.I remember the Benedictine morning mass at St. John’s Abbey where I had retreated on the hard walk to the end of my 33-year-old step-daughter Katherine’s terminal cancer. RIP.

From their Purple Martin Mansions

The Purple Martins swoon and swoop

O’er the green grass field shimmering

In early morning light cooled by the breeze

 

A Purple Martin chorus chants its antiphons

En masse above the green grass field,

A purple Benedictine chorus sings praise

To the morning on their way to breakfast.

–          June 1, 2011

Two Views from the Edge commenters found themselves singing the hymn “Morning Has Broken” after reading the poem. Click  to hear and watch a magnificent instrumental and photographic rendering of the hymn. Here’s the first stanza:

Morning hasd broken

Like the first morning,

Blackbird has spoken

Like the first bird.

Praise for the singing!

Praise for the morning!

Praise for them singing,

Fresh from the Word

– Gaelic melody; lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon, 1931