After Rumi
A cardinal, the very essence of red, stabsthe hedgerow with his piercing notes;a chickadee adds three short beats,part of the percussion section, and a white-throated sparrow moves the melody along.Last night, at a concert, crashing wavesof Prokofiev; later, the soft rain fallingsteadily and a train whistle off in the distance.And today, the sun, waiting for its cue,comes out from the clouds for a short sweetsolo, then sits back down, rests between turns.On the other side of the world, night’s blackbass fiddle rosins its bow, draws it overthe strings, resonates with the breathof sleepers, animal, vegetable, human.All the world breathes in, breathes out.It hums, it throbs, it improvises. So many voices.Only one song.
Barbara Crooker
1 comment:
So very true. If only we all could grok it.
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