In the casual plane of an inner world
barren with ravages of drought,
flute notes filled the soul with song.
Gone the bustle of traffic,
The cacophony of a chaotic city
disappeared, and I found myself
barefoot in a sea of green
as plush as any velvet,
not manicured, like formal lawn,
but fringed and free with butterflies
and honey bees. The sun was a kiss
on my face, and the breeze a warm caress.
From deep in the forest,
I heard the silver tune of a flute,
a sampler of sound, more scale than song,
and each note brought a picture to mind
and each picture meshed with the next.
Birds gathered ’round silent in their awe;
All the animals stood still and listened,
Even the squirrels busy with thievery
and hoarding stopped what they were doing.
The trees began to sway; pine and oak alike
heard the same song. When forest and meadow
and all that inhabited either had become of one mind,
the music turned to rain, blissful glistening rain.
Thirsty wild flowers opened
and from out of a bed of stone
a wee creature rose on delicate wings,
Angel, or faery, or maybe a wisp of energy,
it’s hard to say,
but the music grew softer
and the sun shone again.