I don’t know if a picture tells a story…
That question hangs
in the air, unanswered,
Yet if I stare long enough
And open all my senses
I hear a wind whooshing
among the branches and
sliding over the grasses
and soil, and the sound
forms into melodic phrases
with a rhythm track the
popping branches and
flowing waters. Then there
are the waterfalls, a hymn
to the world, staccato beats
Mixed with the rushing sound
of Brazilian percussion, of
beads dancing against old
forest woods that have seen
time itself dance with nature,
An eternal spinning tango.
5/18/24
Jazz into Butterflies
Music pours forth, fast, slow,
ecstatic and soul-filled. I revel
in it, celebrating along with the
crowd, cheering the players on
as they crow and preen, horns
raised high, notes pouring out,
filling the air with the sounds
of pure emotion. The notes form,
suddenly, as bubbles, and rise from
each instrument, filling the space
above the stage. The drums beat
louder, sharps and flats rise from
the piano, and the thickening cloud
bursts, bubble by bubble, and out
flitters butterflies, bright and sporting
the rainbow colors of music. We stand
amazed, enraptured, our cheers rising
to heaven on butterfly's wings.
After the Newport Jazz Festival
8.6.24