The chorus of the Cicadas,
at ‘rest’ for seventeen years,
now joins, blending, rising, falling…
with the evening breezes, shifting
the staccato patterns of leaf and blade,
mixing with the rain & living waters,
the heartbeats and footfalls
of the Music of Life, the unending,
‘Unfinished Symphony’ of all in all.
Here is the Harmony layered behind
the fireside chants’ solemn Hymns,
reflective Psalms, and the Celebrant
songs and dances.
It is the thunder beyond
the reverberations of drums
and dancing feet,
the overtones of strings and birdsong,
the metallic vibrancies of trumpets and
trumpeting lions, Kings, and the
Great Leviathan…and Behemoth,
A careful mix with the resonance of the stars,
Of whale song, of the ‘Gregorian Chant’ of small
Messengers, on infinite Missions, in motion
from the known to the unknown, all parts of the Symphony,
the Music of Life.
The child dances in circles, with hands upraised,
to a melody that we, with our mature
trained ears, strain to, but cannot hear.
A man looks up from his ‘Working Lunch’ reports
to smile in appreciation of innocent enthusiasm, the sight
tugging at his own buried memories, and when the Muzak
returns, he thinks the piano sounds like rain.
The child and her brother, oblivious to all that,
launch into a two-part harmony, a well-remembered
sing-song about an agriculturist and his menagerie.
Do we ever stop in wonder about this persistent melody
that has been a steadfast feature of Childhood for so many
countless ages and cultures?
Is it perhaps a survivor, a hand-me-down from the
echoate ululations and celebrations of
Jubal and sons, when the world was new, but…
when the Music of Life was already
an old sweet song.

R. Andrew Ohge 05/2004