Archive
03/28/10 - (1)
It Almost Goes Without Saying
It almost goes without saying, That when you head, sullenly, to work, On a late-March Saturday, in mid-Missouri, Instead of snoozing in, Catching up on the week's deficited sleep...
It almost goes without saying, That when you drive, uninspired, to the office, On a stay-in-bed Sabbath, Listening to the exquisitely mellifluous first movement Of Grofé's Grand Canyon Suite,
Which lifts your unawakened spirit, On the orchestral sun's slowly unfolding golden rays Rising to glorious crescendo, In an impressionistic epiphany of liquid lyricism, Causing your soul to glow, echo, with joy...
It almost goes without saying, That when arrive at your office, Park on the completely empty lot, Linger in your car, To postpone losing that beautiful music's moment,
And, on softly shutting the car door, Stand still, seized, Mesmerized by the sight of two birds — A pair of house finches in mystical flight, Their red heads and breasts a dazzling blur — Darting among trees bordering your building, Gently colliding, clinging, descending together, One jumping three feet, landing as the other leaps, In a continual vice-versa of passionate ritual, Performing their erotic, primitive dance of life...
It almost goes without saying That when you witness two finches, for ten minutes, And don't disturb their rapture, Spring is singing the winged air sublime, Renewing time, with its jubilation of nascence.
03/28/10 - (1)
|
|||
|
|||
