Thursday, May 17, 2012

songs of the trees

It was after what I thought was lunchtime (in the woods, the sun is never overhead, and a watch had been left off my essentials list, as runaway intentions heed no factory schedule) that the music began. The woods were rumored to be the destination of pagans meeting up with their gods; there were stories of rites and sacrifices at the full moon that had people keeping their cats indoors, just in case. The woods were also rumored to be where people of otherwise good character lost sight of their morals and became animals, fueled by alcohol and the invisibility cloak of night. This wasn't that type of fiddle music, this was more like a country wedding with lots of barbeque and dancing on the lawn, perfume mixed up with the smell of mosquito repellent. That's the type of bluegrass music it sounded like, from far away, and as I got closer and could hear more of the melody. It wasn't exactly foreign, it felt like I could sing along, except I had forgotten all of the words.

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May 9, 2012
reading the arrival of spring through the raindrops of storms