~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 22) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~
A suserrous sound, a sighing breeze,
As if a wind quivering trees,
Slipped serpentine through high canopies,
Whispering words, rustling leaves.
Wrapped all around in a wall of sound:
Energetic, faint and low,
Twas if a swarm of droning wasps,
Flew past an open window.
Paused by the door, I listened,
I attuned to a melodic thrum:
A scattering of sounds found concordance,
Harmonious as would a song sung.
“The music you hear softly flowing:
Cosmic quiddity, never slowing,
‘Tis the jazz and scat of all matter,
Moving to the beat of one drum.”
“Away above, atop earthy ground,
An ancient forest thrives,
Where-in there stands a mighty Oak,
Branching into arching skies.”
“Upwards she climbs, backwards in time,
Reaching for the edge of space.
From here to there and back again,
She’s part of a weave of lace.”
“Said web of thread: life’s complexity,
An entanglement of inter-connectivity.”
“Indeed,” said he, “much like spaghetti –
Are the silken strands of totality.”
“For example,” he said, “imagine a place,
Far away, where a star is born.
Its dramatic emergence creates disturbance –
As might wind ripple fields of corn.”
“The mighty Oak who reaches high,
Whose splendid span in star-lit skies,
Whose leaves flex differently with each breeze,
She feels star-birth purl cosmic seas.”
“And so it is for every sound, for
Every murmur from all around:
Every atom above or below ground,
As matter chatters a tune is found.”
“Crystal-walled this shrine may be, yet,
Bound by root and rocks.
Along deep tubers branching down,
Comes resonance that never stops.”
“At first overwhelming,” he said affirming,
“The intensity of the cosmic voice: but,
You’ll come round to differentiating sound,
An experienced ear offers choice.”
“Ahh!” He enthused, “do you hear that?”
“Tiny wings beating of a tiny gnat!”
“Tis a language of sorts, sounds to enthrall –
Given time, you’ll learn them all.”
Then to and fro, back and forth,
He moved with practiced motion:
As if a task perfected in time,
Fluid in his locomotion.
With candles glowing, he slowing,
And turning, lowering his hood,
Aglow in flickering warm-peach light,
At the center of the shrine he stood.
“Welcome,” he said, “to the Hall of Dreams,
This helm, your home, your station.
Much has changed in ten-thousand years,
Since your last incarnation.”
~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 21) precedes this post. Part 23 to follow soon ~