The fanlight in my kitchen window just turned itself into a Christmas card. The view showed a criss-cross of snow covered twigs and there, in the centre, sat a Robin, his beautiful red breast puffed up. You’d have thought he was posing for me but he was, in fact, eyeing the feeder tray. He sat a while watching the Great Tit help herself to sunflower seeds before making his move.
Had the sun shone at that moment and twinkled on the snow it might have been described as magical. But it held magic enough for me. A tableau of the world outside bought closer by my offering to the wild.
Snow somehow enhances the feeling of magic. It muffles sound, it covers the untidy parts and drapes beautifully over the things we love. It transforms everything into a potential wonderland.
I have just been watching a TV series about Wonderland and those writers at the turn of the 19th century who bought it to life for us “From JM Barrie to JRR Tolkien”. The series was about the authors and the stories behind the characters and places we learned to love as children. Winnie the Pooh, Peter Pan, Mole, The Secret Garden, Narnia.
I have read and enjoyed many of CS Lewis’s books but I have never actually read the Narnia series. I am setting that to rights now and intend to immerse myself in these works over the midwinter period. This recent fall of snow has, indeed, given me the perfect backdrop for The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.
Although written after CS Lewis had already created Narnia, the first book, The Magician’s Nephew, sets out the story of its creation. I was fascinated to read that it was created out of the song of Aslan. Whether CS Lewis was influenced by JRR Tolkien’s Simarillion I would not guess, although the concept that stars make sounds is as old as Pythagoras.
I like the idea of song being part of creation. When I look up at the stars on a clear night, I fancy I can here their sound (I cannot hear it on a cloudy night). It is like an orchestra playing a grand symphony. “Music of the Spheres” we call it or “Harmony of the Worlds” as Kepler named it in the 17th century when he suggested that their music is not heard aurally but by the soul.
In the case of Narnia, Aslan said that, once the resonance of his initial song had settled, then its power for creation would end. But I wonder if this is so. Just imagine, if every sound we made since then added to it? What if our emotions held a song? What is the song of sadness? What is the song of gladness? All these sounds, surely, have been added into the creation of the world that continues to grow around us.
Singing is, I am sure, good for the soul. Regardless of the mood of a song, happy or sad, it has power. Songs can reach us in a way that words cannot. Maybe this is caused by the sounds resonating through our body or by the breath work involved. Or maybe there is just something about the nature a song and the sound of singing.
Sometimes it is the only offering I have when I am out in the wild. When I have spent a moment of stillness in nature and felt her respond; when I have felt her lift my spirits or given me a vision or an answer, I need to say thank you but my pockets are empty. So I listen, and a song may come to me which I can offer up by way of thanks.
There is a Psalm that says, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” But I would suggest that we should make a joyful noise for the sake of us, for own self and for each other. Who knows, we may be part of the ongoing creation of the world around us.
And, just a thought, maybe that is why the Robin sings.
Blessings of this midwintertide and may your song bring you much comfort.