The Singer

The Singer


I heard the singer before I saw him: a deep natural voice and a lilting folk song. He was one side of a hedge and I on the other. Coming into view I saw him slow-pedalling his bicycle along a country lane as I – invisible to him – walked along a footpath. The song grew and then faded as his journey continued.


I was moved by what I heard and then saw: a man on a bicycle at home in himself and with creation; a song that seemed to belong to this moment as much as the waving of grass in the breeze and the warm sun on my face. He was free and was singing of it: without agenda, anxiety or ambition; alone on a bicycle and together with the universe around him.


It was a God-moment – a good moment. I think of the times when I am singing as I walk and then fall silent when I see someone coming. Consideration perhaps; or is it my embarrassment at being found out? I am glad he was not aware of me.


For much of the time I wonder what God wants of me. What am I to do? How am I to be? These are good and necessary questions. And then I also reflect that when I am singing as I walk such questions fall away from me. The simple movement invited of me is to be and I respond by being.


I am lost in a song.

I am found.

I am small.

I am part of everything

It is enough.

It is me.

It is God.


I sing.

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