there was a time when I could hear the earth sing under my feet. Maybe not an actual song, but singing, none the less. It would resonate in the bark of the trees I touched, it would whisper behind me in the wind and lift itself in crescendo in bluest skies or murmur, unseen, in the darkness of night; I would feel it in myself when I walked upon the world, in the woods, in the towns or beside the waters. I would vibrate along with it's chord, sometimes knowingly, sometimes not. It was a song I sang to in the gold of the morning and in that color of twilight that you can't describe. It would overpower me when I tried to accompany it in the driving rains, it would be the faint chorus behind my song in the softness of falling snow. A voice in the spring breeze that stirred the nodding daffodils, a song in the breathless heat of summer sun and the long sustain that announced the end of summer in the rattling of dry leaves that hung on tired branches, a last applause, and a plaint to call the world to rest in the night of it's winter. It would be the first music I would hear upon awakening and the melody that drew me to sleep. It was a gift, freely given to me as long as I was willing to listen to it, but now it's gone. And, worse, it's been gone for a long, long time, and I've only just noticed, and now, I'm nothing...
pearls before swine...
