The Sound of Sense

Emergence

Someone is watering the wild magic of spring, you can hear it in the walking clouds and sudden rain. The weather has a young mood, like a toddler trying on shoes. Shoes running down streets again with shouts startling birds, startling us. It's good simply to hear after so much silence.

I hear the aromatic voices of flowers: quieter ones by my window picked in a deep breath, accompanied by louder ones across the street dropped by the wind. I watch the wind touching fuller trees, squeezing into flocking pedals, extracting scents under the sun. I taste the warmth: smooth, soft, with pleasant humidity, resting on the edge of a leaf. I walk across the street, touch the fresh leaves, tear one down: green, pungent, bright.

I hear more, here, there, past, future, all convening. It has put an effort in me, to shake off myself into being. You, me, bird, plant, all merge with my movement. This spring step has touched my body, playdoughing me ready for a new season of melody.

My tuneful frame resonates with the blossom and blow of spring frequencies, and I seek to amplify the dragonfly. The quick shimmer hidden in a glimmer, with eyes wide and wise, the smallest of magical beasts, living among us, practicing small feats. I listen to myself buzzing until I spring into unbound sound.