The rough skin of a fir tree
Catches at my hair as I shift
On a lofty branch, enclosed
By fragrant needles and sap.
I've got my earbuds in
And the sun is going down
And I have the most perfect view.
There's a soft rain beginning
In the gilt horizon somewhere
I can smell the clouds heavy
In the stratosphere.
A solitary guitar note
Lucid and calming
Starts the beginning of the soundtrack
For sunset.
It echoes and is followed by
A steady drumbeat
Joined by piano, and ethereal voices
If I had a way, if I found the letters
To piece into words and sentences,
If I could craft priceless written gems
I would tell you what these moments
Are like.
Sitting in that fir tree
Watching the heavens run with crimson
Painted pale pink and orange, and gold
Seeing the first stars come out, it's
Like being there for Creation.
And I can hear the music,
Echoing and drifting and winding
Into my very existence.
When I go back to living life,
This is what I take with me.
When I laugh and cry and sing and write,
This is what's in my head.
This is my life, my pulse, my air
my Pause.