heard His Song.
I see it now, bright against the grassy verge, a crumpled sprawl of blue and faded
brown, and the Song begins, a soft and stealthy chord. It coils close behind my breath
as I watch his dark head cleave the surface of the pool, glossy as a raven's wing. It
swells and soars inside me as he is born of the still water, his pale skin kissed with
gold by the loving sun. Its rhythm is the beating of my heart, and it thunders in my
ears and will not be denied.
I weave his name into the Song, and he lifts his face and listens with a smile.
The leaves whisper no more in the winter wind, and the sun hides its face behind the
clouds. The flash of blue half-buried in the snow is naught but a cast-off bit of rag,
and the pool is frozen over, like my heart.
The colors of my world are faded now, and the Music is silenced. Will I hear His Song
again when I set foot upon the western shore?
~~~~~
