Released from my anchor, skittering adrift,
Where the wind takes me, I stop and listen.
A kneeling player, skilled fingers quicken on the drum.
Mallets hit a marimba in six eight time.
Two instrument emit an intertwining wave creation.
I cannot keep still with so much magical precise pounding,
Finding echoes in my inner dreamscape, awakening.
Impulse to dance hits me, no defense needed.
Arms outstretched, fists clenched,
Toes pointed, tap, tapping in rhythm.
Mind’s a whirl, I’m breathing, spinning.
Dancing jig time, whole mind, to music faster.
Invisible whisperings from resonating strings within
My body is limber and loose, infinite sinews singing.
No distance now between me and the music.
Whisperings, soundings, plumbing depths of movement.
No longer carried by the wind, instead every part moving to sing.
Movement become music and music movement.
This was my first Sunday Whirl, done rather late, but better late than never! 😉
Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham