In the casual plane of an inner world
barren with ravages of drought,
flutes notes filled her soul with song;
gone the bustle of traffic.
The cacophony of a chaotic city
disappeared and she found herself
barefoot on a carpet of green
as plush as any velvet,
not manicured like formal lawn
but fringed and free with butterflies
and honey bees. The breeze a warm caress,
a kiss on her face.
From deep in the forest
came that 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 their 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, a misty glistening rain.
Thirsty wild flowers opened
and from out of a bed of stone
a wee creature rose on delicate wings,
dragonfly or angel or maybe a wisp of energy,
it’s hard to say
but the music grew softer
and the sun shone again.