Birds have a voice.

They all speak at once sometimes.

All the different coos and chirps 

Peep upwards in the morning.

My windchime collects its thoughts, today,

In the stillness of the morning,

Listening to the birds and what

It is they have to say.

And I am walking quietly,

Swelling myself on the happy sounds,

And all the potential energy,

And like the chimes, I wait

For throaty winds of possibility 

To blow over me and through,

So that I may learn to find my voice, too.

-jenn