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… other than taking care of grandparents, organizing Moral Monday and Justice Brigade shenanigans, sorting out life changes, working 2-3 jobs, building a home and garden, and writing, singing, learning, and making music….

Okay so, you all will be proud of me.  I put together a great portion of my thesis paper.  I only have 2 small papers left and some evaluative thinking caps to put on.

The thesis is my evaluation of my work with Democracy Matters over the past three and 1/2 years and my attempt to situate the organization and its efforts with college students into the context of the larger Money in Politics movement in the United States. First and huge chunk of Capstone to turn in.

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As I sit here watching through the window, at the thankful birds as they hop around in the feed I’ve just thrown.  I think about the little bits of heaven that are right here in my home.  Days like today teach me more gratefulness than I’d have come up with on my own.  Days like today when it’s impossible to drive, wreckless to try, and smart just to stay inside and say praises for the seeds we’ve sewn.  Today I read, “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings” and cried out loud for what it means.  I read her words, and Maya Angelou makes truth ring.  She talks about birds and of freedom and things, letting loose a symbol, a feeling, an understanding that only poetry can bring.  I share with you today, something that I know to be true.  I share with you today, one of the reasons why I work for You.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou