TODAY MUST BE MOTHER’S DAY - Echoes of Thoreau V

[Intro] Morning came quietly. Mist still rested on the grass beside the lake. A small bird, with a worm in its beak, was returning to the open yellow mouths waiting in the nest. Some nests are built. Some remain standing with one missing voice inside. [Verse 1] In the town, shop windows were filled with flowers. And people kept repeating the same sentence to one another: “Today must be Mother’s Day…” But some days do not arrive in every heart the same way. [Chorus] Those who could not leave a piece of their heart inside a waiting womb… ached once more today. Those who buried their mothers stood for a moment like orphans again inside the crowd… And the burden of the children who make a mother whisper: “I wish I had carried stone instead of your sorrow…” was heavier than stone today. Children leave. Birds leave. Even warm nests empty themselves into the sky… And the mother remains, listening for wings that no longer return at dusk. [Female distant cry — Yma Sumac wild virtuosity, far behind male vocal] “Haaiii—yaaah—iiiiii…” [Verse 2] Still, the flower shops smiled. The stores filled. Ribbons, gift paper, discount signs… Our age has learned to place not only human labor, but the most fragile chambers of the heart itself, inside the marketplace window. But the forest does not live this way. One tree does not celebrate Mother’s Day for another tree. Still, when the wind grows harsh, it bends its branches toward the other. A young bird never announces the day it will return. Yet the mother bird comes back to the same branch every evening, listening to the forest. [Chorus] Those who could not leave a piece of their heart inside a waiting womb… ached once more today. Those who buried their mothers stood for a moment like orphans again inside the crowd… And the burden of the children who make a mother whisper: “I wish I had carried stone instead of your sorrow…” was heavier than stone today. Children leave. Birds leave. Even warm nests empty themselves into the sky… And the mother remains, listening for wings that no longer return at dusk. [Female distant cry dissolving into wind] “Haaiii… yaaah… iiiii…” [Bridge] This morning I celebrated my wife’s Mother’s Day. She smiled. But the bread paused in her throat. For the first time, none of her children were beside her. I learned then: the silence of a house does not come from objects… but from missing footsteps. My own parents waited twelve years beside an empty cradle. So perhaps I can understand a little how a mother waits ten long years for one small “Blue heart” to begin beating. [Final Chorus] Those who could not leave a piece of their heart inside a waiting womb… ached once more today. Those who buried their mothers stood for a moment like orphans again inside the crowd… And the burden of the children who make a mother whisper: “I wish I had carried stone instead of your sorrow…” was heavier than stone today. Children leave. Birds leave. The nest grows quiet. Yet every evening, somewhere beyond the lake, a mother still waits on the same branch for the sound of returning wings. [Outro] Nature never hurries. But the heart of the one who waits outlives the seasons. Another bird just crossed the sky. A thin branch in its beak… Perhaps it is flying to build a nest. Or perhaps to remember one that has fallen apart…