In the absence of dictation from angels
I search for something to say
But there’s nothing
I listen to the wind murmur its lament
Shaking songs from dark sentinels swaying overhead
Playing riffs on tree branches
Like it was the third set at Birdland
I can’t interpret this kind of jazz
So I blow that joint
Walk away
I wander over to the lake
Watch choruses ripplechase across water
Waterwalking splashes marking that dance
Above, clouds spout soliloquies
Dramatically written in raindrops or tears
Each page torn out and tossed away
Like I dismiss my random thoughts and fleeting fears
To listen to this moment and what it says
When I finally get it
I hear angels laughing
David Trudel © 2013
I like this combination of images…
David, this is magical.
Thank you both. It was a stormy, blustery spring day here and I went to one of the nearby lakes for a walk…