In the cloak of night I drove through the streets of San Francisco. A friend, a lover, the city speaks to me in so many languages. I hear her call to me in my dreams.
I saw a band June 6 night. I did not know what to expect and I was left breathless. Once more the city delivered. Trumpet call, bass rhythm, the keys dancing. Heartbeat of the drums and pure soulful cries while blowing into the harmonica.
It’s been a long time since my soul danced. Since I last saw the symphony. Learning to differentiate sound as Beethoven continues to teach me.
In the music, I close my eyes and fly…. Fly on the wings of the sounds and soar above the city and the sea.
And I am reminded of the poem that spoke to me Friday night:
It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air –
and there, night came in.When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography –
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.
Pablo Neruda
Leave a comment