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Your Concerto

Movement I – the natural Hercules
A deep, rumbling growl reverberates through my body, perfectly mimicking the peals of thunder.
My temperamental heart meets the irregular staccato rhythm.
Perfect resonance is achieved.
Lightning illuminates the wasted vista of the drenched landscape.
Plants greedily try to capture every drop of rain and end up spilling them out of the precarious helix of their leaves.
A weighted world – but balance is integral.
I notice my eyes mimicking the plants’ thirst.
All too soon their greed consumes them and the tears flow freely.
The saline solution maps out previously uncharted territory across the contours of my face.
A startling smell of ozone hits me suddenly.
That clean, new smell with underlying dankness – perfectly describing life’s paradoxes:
The old is necessary for the new to exist.

Can you see me in the lightning?
Taste and feel me in the rain?
Touch me in the wind?
And smell me in the ozone?
It’s amazing how much we are part of everything, yet at the same time so removed – so unique, individual and minute.

Movement II – cosmology for beginners
A great black-out curtain is haphazardly laid across the world.
Who thought to cut out the little bits and allow shimmers of light through?
Did they cut it out on a pattern or was it merely an arbitrary exercise in using a scalpel?
No matter the reason, I am grateful for the star cut-outs.
I lie on my back staring unfocusedly up at the great, holey curtain.
Playing with my depth of field as easily as the aperture on a camera is adjusted, I zoom in to the stars.
I keep that focus for a long time.
So long in fact that I seem to have lost perspective as to where I begin and end.
I just exist.
One with the ether.
When you look up at your so-called ‘stars’ do you see me there?
I am going to help cut out more holes in the curtain – I don’t like complete blackouts.

Movement III – a perfect circle
I heard that you could tell a tree’s age by horizontally bisecting it and counting the number of rings.
I found this rather bizarre and severe.
So instead I asked my tree-friend how old he was.
The wind answered in a language I couldn’t understand, as did the sun, but there was no answer forthcoming from the tree.
I waited patiently, expecting an answer shortly.
Nothing.
The question of age really disturbed me.
I tried counting all his leaves and dividing them by the number of branches he had, but I kept loosing track.
I tried measuring my friend to gain a height to year ratio, under consultation of my botany books, but he was just too tall.
And then one day I went to visit my tree-friend.
I was greeted with the fanfare of angry chainsaws.
With my heart in my throat I sprinted the rest of the way.
I rounded the bend, just in time to see my regal, proud friend (who was too embarrassed to reveal his age), fall gracelessly to the ground.
I ran blindly, screaming for him all the while.
I reached his mutilated, decapitated corpse and tried desperately to put him back together – but he was just too big.
So I started gathering his free-flowing sap and tried to pour it back into his trunk.
I worked feverously – like a person possessed.
But to no avail.
I’d worn my hands raw by the time I slumped back and gave up.
I watched in morbid fascination as his ichor encased my bleeding hands and my blood formed pools on his severed trunk.
I got up and smeared the blood from his trunk to see more carefully.
There, neatly concentric, were 20 perfect circles in alternating blood and ichor.
My dear friend was the same age as me!
Do you see me in the life-blood of the earth, the ichor of nature?
Do you hear my pain when you mistakenly trample a sapling?

Movement IV – Hawaiian bliss
He made me a frangipani garland.
He said that I was just like a frangipani tree:
A strong, hardy tree with the most beautiful delicate flowers imaginable.
I wore that garland like a crown.
I carried their scent like a dressage horse carries its rider.
When they started wilting and I brought a jaded garland to him, he laughed heartily and made me another.
That entire season I wore a frangipani garland.
I kept asking him when they might run out.
He chuckled quietly and told me only when I did.
Do you see me in the flowers?
Do you make a garland of me and parade me with pride?

Movement V – the hidden coda
In the storm, the stars, the trees, the flowers – I see you.
I feel you in the wind, the sun, the rain.
I taste you in the exotic spices, the soothing fruits, the cheeky flavours of life.
In the subtle aromas of living and the outspoken ones – I smell you.
I hear you in the whispers of the wind, the singing of the crashing
waves, the beating of the excited thunder.
I hear you late at night, whispering tenderly in my ear.
I feel you early in the morning, wrapping me in your warmth.
I taste you in elicit snatches, while you playfully wink at me.
I smell you as I walk into the house at night,
And I can’t wait to see you there,
Ready with your embraces and easy smile and your awesome presence.

Your Concerto

nefiger

Joined September 2007

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