Whispers from a Tree
We fill our worlds with the percussion of progress, a symphony of sensation and static. White noise, green machines, roaring roadsters, jubilant jack hammers, hysterical honking, shouting, laughter, slam, screech, "move", "where are you going?", "meet you at..., hurry up, run, I'm going.." Slam, clip clop.
And then...almost unexpectedly, an invitation; a break from routine. The sounds morph, foreign to the ears...then fade. the murmur of quiet chat on a westbound train....and the rhythmic chick-chock of the undercarriage dancing from rail to rail. Past the swing of suburban scenery on the wide screen window..Staring out beyond the view. Hearing a faint and familiar voice. "Come to me".
On the platform, the clock punches out an analog 4:10. It's job is done. A moment to orient. Long Branch. Looks the same. Follow the drones towards the tunnel. Through the tunnel. Five become three. Three become 1. Lakeshore East. Flash. Dairy Queen. Ice-cream on a picnic table. Mid-summer. The Queen has died. Long live Arnold's drive in. Time for a steak burger? No. But, I muse at the thought.
A few more steps. The legion. Its tacky sign lights up the park. The grass shifts and stirs waving me close. I see the path. Like a water slide of concrete telling me I'm next. Waiting for me to just let go. The creek is running high...surfing over rocks and wood. But the gurgle isn't loud enough to muffle a whisper in the wind. "Come to me". I know you. I've always known you. Consumed by you. Burned by you. And yet there you are, the constant in the silence. "Come to me" Simple in your sonnet, yet complex in your calling. You are the balance, the trickster, the lover, the muse. You promise nothing, but offer everything. I am glad the invitation has not been reneged in my absence. You are the whisper from the tree that never fades, found in the silence when the silence finds me.
This day, I keep walking. But, you are part of me as much as the silence is part of the noise. I will be back to taste your sweetness, listen to your song, burn my hand on your fire and soothe it in your stream of consciousness. I cannot say when. Time is for trains and tables. I will pass by when the day is calm enough to remember your call, when it's safe to finally come home.
And then...almost unexpectedly, an invitation; a break from routine. The sounds morph, foreign to the ears...then fade. the murmur of quiet chat on a westbound train....and the rhythmic chick-chock of the undercarriage dancing from rail to rail. Past the swing of suburban scenery on the wide screen window..Staring out beyond the view. Hearing a faint and familiar voice. "Come to me".
On the platform, the clock punches out an analog 4:10. It's job is done. A moment to orient. Long Branch. Looks the same. Follow the drones towards the tunnel. Through the tunnel. Five become three. Three become 1. Lakeshore East. Flash. Dairy Queen. Ice-cream on a picnic table. Mid-summer. The Queen has died. Long live Arnold's drive in. Time for a steak burger? No. But, I muse at the thought.
A few more steps. The legion. Its tacky sign lights up the park. The grass shifts and stirs waving me close. I see the path. Like a water slide of concrete telling me I'm next. Waiting for me to just let go. The creek is running high...surfing over rocks and wood. But the gurgle isn't loud enough to muffle a whisper in the wind. "Come to me". I know you. I've always known you. Consumed by you. Burned by you. And yet there you are, the constant in the silence. "Come to me" Simple in your sonnet, yet complex in your calling. You are the balance, the trickster, the lover, the muse. You promise nothing, but offer everything. I am glad the invitation has not been reneged in my absence. You are the whisper from the tree that never fades, found in the silence when the silence finds me.
This day, I keep walking. But, you are part of me as much as the silence is part of the noise. I will be back to taste your sweetness, listen to your song, burn my hand on your fire and soothe it in your stream of consciousness. I cannot say when. Time is for trains and tables. I will pass by when the day is calm enough to remember your call, when it's safe to finally come home.
posted by ElectrixSun at
9:02 AM
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