The old nun labored breathlessly, struggling up the hill
and saw a swatch of a blue cloth draped from the branches of a tree.
Trying not to slip on the rocks in the early chill
she looked no further above, there was no need.
She knew her and knew it was herself there.
Walking slowly up until she stood beneath the branches, being weary,
Sister Ann sighed. It was both sad and funny in a way,
“Come down out of the tree, now, Margaret Cleary.
It’s your youngest sister’s wedding day.”
It was a mournful silence answered her request.
“Margaret, the table is yet to be set, and what about the cake?
All the younger ones are looking for ye.
It’s a wedding, Margaret, dear, not a wake.
I saw your skirt in the branches, you cannot hide from me.”
But the sadness above her drifted down like a deafening weight beneath that tree.
The nun thought for a moment, cleared her old throat and silently prayed for the right words
to say to her. Should I be tough, she wondered, or is’t better to be soft?
Sure she cannot stay here today among the birds.
Although it is a peaceful place, she cannot remain aloft.
Not a sound from above her, save the creak of a limb as Margaret Cleary shifted her weight.
Without her, it hardly seemed the wedding could take place,
especially since the mother would not be there to see.
“I know today is not easy for you, Maggie”, she said, “but it’s a day you must face.
I was your teacher and I’ve known you since you were a wee,
I know your heart.” Still, not a word from overhead.
“I know,” she repeated. “All of your brothers and sisters, save you, have married,
and now the youngest is leaving, too, and it hurts to the bone.
You haven’t had it easy, Maggie. It was a great lot you’ve carried
since your mother died; and now, you’re to go on alone.”
Then the old nun wrapped her arms around the trunk of the tree, as if it were Margaret Cleary herself.
“You have to come down, Darlin’. You cannot hide.
As hard as it may be, you must go on as you always do.
God has seen fit that your role is to give and provide.
Not everyone can do this. This is who you are. This is you.”
Sister thought she might have heard a sigh, some breath, some sign, but still the woman sat among the leaves.
“For unknown reasons He calls some of us to be there for all the others,
to be the ones who lead, who bolster others as they climb.
And though we ache with needs of our own, we are the givers, the teachers, the nurses, the lovers, the mothers,
It falls to us to show them the way out of the darkness, and always, Maggie, one more time.”
The wind stirred in the branches where Margaret Cleary sat listening.
She went on, “There may be no symphonies written for those whose lives are quietly given to all around.
It may be that our only tributes are the achievements of those we guide.
We may not even know of all of the lives we touch, still we are bound
by what God wants of us. As the Lord’s very hand, do not withhold the ability to give what is inside.”
When Sister Ann next looked up, the old nun saw Margaret Cleary’s hand reaching down for a bit of help out of the tree.
Author notes
The Irish are marvelous story tellers and I love music of an authentic brogue. I wrote this piece in 2006 and have performed it a number of times. People seem to enjoy it. I hope you do, too.
Love,
Camille Morin
In a list
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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I know you can't see through the fabric, Margaret. But ye foot is headin right for the branch. Just ease on down; Your doin fine. Let not your heart be troubled.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBPFvp750sc
(Not the mary you will always hate) -
aye the tale of trouble and woe of being the last daughter, neither young nor old, who must recognize that she can not be afraid of her fate. It is hard place to be or to understand, this being a person who serves others even when it means it is her life she must give away. How fitting it is that a nun is the one who shares this understanding.
Enjoyed it a great deal.
Love,
Tom B.
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Apparently, It changed her way of thinking quite a bit. She moved to New Zealand, and became a life coach/grief counselor!
http://sites.yellow.co.nz/site/margaretcleary/index.html -
Aye. Aand can ye sayit in wee clippt brogue? She dinna ask the tree what he thinks...
He rather joyed in the company, Me thinks!
two years ago my wife began to write; and stopped. She produced some marvelous work. A saved in my drafts a comment she made, and wanted to develop it. She stopped me; saying I shouldn't steal her work. It is her as a child sitting in a willow tree, that tickled and comforted her till she laughed.
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I always perform this with a brogue. Also, the Irish use a unique phrasing while they are telling stories that I emulate when I do "Margaret Cleary". Perhaps you should perform this one. Audiences respond very positively.
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Wonderful idea. Maybe I can find an Irish brogue coach! I spent a week in Belfast and Dungannon in North Ireland; and got quite gude at it. But It is not the seeame at oll.
And its been, heavens! 30 yares. -
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Listen to some recordings or a film, perhaps. You'll get it back. Then tell the story. Then tell me how they liked it!
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what a great tale and i suspect with your poetic heart revealed in the telling, it gains added richness when performed. thanks for sharing.
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Thank you! You are always very flattering. It is fun to perform.
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A wonderful tale you've told. So true that some are called to give and give with little public recognition but their worth is immeasurable.
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We often hear about and celebrate heroes for a single, extravagant act. Such praise is well deserved. How many more live more quietly heroic lives each day who are never even noticed?
I'm glad you enjoyed it!
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yes I do and how Your voice must articulate this weaving in and out making one feel . I love this and bless her bless her sweet heart I would be reluctant too.
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It's the empty nest syndrome. A part of one celebrates and the other grieves. I'm so glad you liked this. It's one of my favorites.
Love,
CM
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