The Scribe in the Woods

A hedge of trees surrounds me, a blackbird’s lay sings to me, praise I shall not conceal,
Above my lined book the trilling of the birds sings to me.
A clear-voiced cuckoo sings to me in a gray cloak from the tops
of bushes,
May the Lord save me from Judgement; well do I write under the greenwood.

Poem from the Irish
pg 259
The Classics of Western Spirituality:
Celtic Spirituality

Woodcut from
The Birds, Bartholomaeus Anglicus
circa 1485