The Pursuit of Happiness
What requirements
Need to be met
In order to pursue
The happiness
Poetry brings?
What uplifting
Do we get
When we read
Or write poetry—
What is it
That gives our thoughts wings?
Why is it that
Happiness is so fleeting?
We write about it
And it’s gone…
Or has it simply changed us…
Upon meeting emotions
Which still lead us on?
The last word
Still eludes—
The moods—
They never match…
And so we continue
To pursue
The happiness
We fear
We might someday catch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Wren's Pursuit of Happiness
Spring had arrived—just barely—as it often does here in Michigan. I was outside, in the backyard of my house, where I usually spend much of my time. Winter is usually much too long, and after being cooped-up indoors for four months, I need to get out as much as possible. Besides, there is always so much to do.
As I walked through the yard, in search of weeds which needed pulling, and perennials which needed dividing, I glanced at the wren house I had built and put up two years prior. For the past two years I had had the pleasure of having a pair of wrens move in, set up house, and raise a family. Wrens, for some reason, are one of my favorite birds. I am not sure if it is their diminutive stature, combined with their larger-than-life attitude; their constant flirting about, looking for something to eat, or explore; or just their simple, yet cheerful songs. Whatever the reason, I enjoyed them immensely and the past two springs and summers were more enjoyable because of their presence.
This spring, however, they had not arrived yet, and I was worried, both for me and them. Me, because despite my love for solitude in my backyard, I still enjoyed the casual company they provided, and them, because after the past two years, I had become more attached to them, even though it was a one-sided relationship. Sure, I was their landlord, but were they even aware of that fact, and if so, did they care? I doubted it, but it did not matter.
As I continued to putter in the spring sunshine I noticed a small, brown, flying object land on one of the posts in my garden. It was indeed the long-anticipated arrival of the wrens, or should I say, wren, because there was only one. I looked and listened for the longest time, and the mate never showed up, despite the constant callings of the male wren (which I somehow knew it was), which were somehow different, more constant, and more urgent than I had heard in previous years. Nine notes…I made sure I counted them because it was an unusual song being sung this spring. Nine notes…over and over and over again, with only a brief pause for a breath, in-between each song…tweet, tweet, tweet, tweeeeet, tweet, tweet…tweet, tweet, tweet. Three quick, short tweets, a long tweet, two more quick tweets, a brief pause, and then three more concluding tweets. Then the same song repeated after only a second’s rest. This, I quickly observed, went on non-stop, and continued all day, every day, and did so for the next two months. The song began before sunrise and lasted until after sunset. Evidently the wren was calling for his mate, or any mate after awhile, because this song continued with the same intensity each day, as it had the first day. This search for a wife was so important that nothing else seemed to matter.
He did take time, however, to prepare the wren home for immediate occupancy, when his mate did arrive. He constantly collected small twigs and branches during his exploration of the yard; bringing them home and tucking them exactly where they belonged, in anticipation of her arrival. So much time eventually passed, however, that the twigs were sticking out the small entrance hole, and he had to remove some. There did, after-all, have to be room to raise a family.
After about a month, my love of wrens began to both decrease and increase. Decrease because my wife, Anita, and I usually slept with our windows open once the warm weather finally arrived in Michigan (about June), and the wren usually woke up and began his singing much sooner than we were willing, or able, to begin our day. And each day, until the first day of summer arrived, the sun came up a little earlier, resulting in even a longer day for the wren, and a shorter night’s rest for us. We were eventually able to adjust, just like those people who live next to railroad tracks are able to filter out the noise of trains. By comparison, the song of a wren was not as loud, but it was more constant. His songs just became a part of our lives, as did the sunrise.
My love for wrens increased because of the same song and same behavior. How important this search for a wife was! Non-stop calling, non-stop preparations for making a home for a mate, whom he just seemed to know would be arriving, although, evidently, not soon. Keeping himself busy, and fed, and fit; Never feeling sorry for himself because of loneliness; Living life to the fullest, no matter what that might be that day, but obviously looking for more out of life than one little wren could provide for himself. We all need a goal in life—a reason for living. This little male wren had found one and was pursuing it to the fullest and to the best of his ability. It was the pursuit of happiness which was driving him. When he might find that happiness was uncertain. Whether he would ever find that happiness was unknown. Perhaps he would never be as happy as he hoped (assuming birds hope), but it did not matter, for he would make the best out that relationship as he could (who could doubt that) and that pursuit is what would make him, and most likely his mate, happy.
After more than a month of this constant singing had passed, I began to put words to the beat of the song…giving meaning to the call….putting myself into his place and imagining what I would be saying. Nine beats every 5 seconds. They sounded exactly the same, but were they? “I’ve built a home for you…where are you?” “This house was built for two—I need you.” “I don’t know what to do. Where are you?” “I need you to make my dreams come true.”
Two months passed since this singing, calling, yearning, hoping, had begun, and still no response. No answer to his fervent song . This evening, as usual, I was out in the yard “working”. I could take it no longer and I wondered how the little wren could go on as well. He was the one doing all the work. I only had to watch and listen to him sing his little heart out. The only thing I knew to do was pray. God had said that he knows when a sparrow falls. The same must be true for wrens, too, but I did not want him to fall, nor fail, so I prayed a little prayer…”Please, God, could you please let this little wren find the mate he so desperately wants, needs, and deserves.” The very instant I finished my prayer the wren started singing much differently. His song was more excited and emotional, if there is such a thing in a bird’s song. He flew quickly around the yard and then back to the little birdhouse he had furnished, continuing to sing loudly. A moment later, another wren arrived and landed next to him on top of the house. They sang back and forth for just a moment, and then she—it just had to be a she—entered through the hole in the front of the house and it just as quickly became a home. This moment definitely gave new meaning to the phrase, “He’ll be singing a different tune.”
The female wren must have liked what she saw in the house, but more likely what she saw in this little male wren, for she decided to stay. They, too, raised a family, but they have never come back. The memory of that spring and summer, as well as the 9-note melody, remain firmly attached in my memory, and I think about it, and them, every time I go in the backyard and see the little gray wren house still attached to the trunk of our tree.
To this day, I do not know whether it was my prayer for the bird, or the wren’s prayer, which was answered. What I do believe is that it was the wren’s dedication to life and determination to make the best of it, and never give up, which both God and I responded to. The male wren’s behavior let us both know that he would never give up…that he had both the faith and hope to continue, no matter what. It was just that both God and I seemed to make up our minds at the same time that something must be done, but only one of us was able to do something about it.
I learned a lot that summer. I hope you have also learned a lot from it, as well.
Reposted For Rey's Pursuit of Happiness Challenge
By Rawland
© 2008 Rawland
(All rights reserved)
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