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8. Perfectly Played

Writer's picture: cherylmurfincherylmurfin

Perfectly played


The symphony begins with the wind

Howling its single low tone

As if pulled long across a bass violin.

Everywhere leaves rustle and clap

No less musical than brush percussion.

My walking sticks are castanets

Click-clacking, click-clacking.

Above all these

A line of wind turbines

Sings a sultry soprano.

And below

My breath keeps

A steady, straining beat.

Huff two three four, huff two three four.

We are divinely directed

This convergence of sound.

We are a stream of unwritten joy.

I wonder as I play my part

If this is how just one note feels

When perfectly, preciously played.


~ Cheryl Murfin, along the Camino de Santiago

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1 Comment


sjkmley
Jan 02, 2019

Beautiful poem Cheryl - brings back wonderful memories - Karen

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