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 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 was 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 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;
dragonfly or angel or maybe a wisp of energy,
it’s hard to say but the music grew softer
and the sun shone again.