Certainty

The river is moving.  
The blackbird must be flying.

— Wallace Stevens






I
Winged creatures crash the corridors of spring And call in kin from everywhere to sing A thousand songs, all with the same refrain: “This is our season, and we shall remain.” At first their sound is harsh and yet in time They bring an easy rhythm and a rhyme To every willing ear, a melody That fills the vernal air with “Certainty!” And all the birds that follow share the sound And make their own to mark their breeding ground, Assuring anyone who comes around: “This is our world, make note of it, and let The record clearly show, let it be said That every spring begins with black and red.” II “— Let there be no doubt! This is our place and time. We have no vagaries to chase, no hills to climb, no valleys to endure, no days to dream, no nights to wonder. Here we stand, as sure as night begins the day and sunlight melts the snow, and here we stay; as sure as winter ends with spring, we take the dormant fields and sing the world awake. Tomorrow is for such wanderers and fools who set out from their churches and their schools in search of something more, but in their souls they struggle over what they want to see and what the future holds for them. But we remain, reminding them of Certainty!”


poem and photo from Thirty Birds