I breathed rumors of its fragrance
even before the purple bough
was shaken free and cut.
Beauty is effusive.
It travels like dust in a shaft of light
noticeable only in stillness.
Beauty floats, it swirls,
it slides under locked doors
to the other side
going undetected until we rest
then we see.
We are called. Not loudly.
Just a whisper is the invitation
to be free.
What holds us back?
Are we brave enough
to step out of our castles, jails,
porches, fallout shelters,
our cocoons, coffins,
our frayed and wearied selves?
And if we manage that, then what?
Will we be brave enough to Dance?
Like Aspen leaves applauding in the sun
caught in the sweep of unbound joy
our old selves put to rest in shadow and ash.
Our hair, clothing, everything will be
scented lilac; we become new (again).
The edge of life is the end…
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WILDsound Festival 