Perfectly played
The symphony begins with the wind
Howling its single low tone
As if pulled long across a bass violin.
Everywhere leaves rustle and clap
No less musical than brush percussion.
My walking sticks are castanets
Click-clacking, click-clacking.
Above all these
A line of wind turbines
Sings a sultry soprano.
And below
My breath keeps
A steady, straining beat.
Huff two three four, huff two three four.
We are divinely directed
This convergence of sound.
We are a stream of unwritten joy.
I wonder as I play my part
If this is how just one note feels
When perfectly, preciously played.
~ Cheryl Murfin, along the Camino de Santiago
Beautiful poem Cheryl - brings back wonderful memories - Karen