This morning, we are going to take a look at my physical world. It has a musical quality with a troupe of dancers…
The glass of the picture window is cool to my touch, and I know that soon the trees of my mountain top will be dancing. They have already begin preparing for the festivity. Green leaves seem out of place on the younger trees, as the more mature admonish them for not yet being in costume.
The grand maples and stoic magnolias are ablaze with yellows, golds, oranges and browns, ready to listen to the regaling wind. The tallows are ablaze with the brilliant reds and yellows of the burning fields of chaff. Spruce and pine, laden with cones, stretch their boughs in the breeze. The rustling needles against the cones sound the tuning of the orchestra.
The sun sinks in its tired pursuit of dusk, creating a horizon to match the trees. Its orb muted from its shiny yellow core to its maize and orange flaring edges. The wind stirs the wispy eastern clouds into a blueberry ambrosia of purples and blues with shadowy greys. Quietly at first, the breezes begin the symphony. A plum tree, brilliant in its royal purple, sways softly, the harbinger of the dance to come.
As the second stanza begins, the trees join with their rustling of dried leaves rubbing against the soft needles of the evergreens. An owl mournfully sings aria. Blackbirds flock from tree to tree, wings beating a melody in the strings of the cellos, basses and violas. Whistling, the wind deepens from the fifes and flutes to the brasses and reeds. Soon, its howling will sound of French horns and bassoons.
In the height of the third movement, the synchronicity of the trees reminds all of creative power. On the symbol clash cue of lightning, leaves let go of the trees. With thunder rumbling its bass drum beat, the little urchins swirl around one another in the form of dust devils, frantic against the backdrop of the swaying trees.
Act four brings the unruly back into line. The gentle piano notes of the rain settles the leaves and silences the animals. Bushes gently swish. As the wind whips up the mountain again, the trees join the fray. In a grand crescendo, rain, wind, trees and sky are harmonious in the might of the storm.
The denouement of the final act sees the return of the sun, yawning and stretching its beams across the tired sky. As it reaches its height, it chases the clouds away with the last of the darkness. Birds twitter in the bare branches which exhausted themselves in last night’s final autumn frolic. The trees will soon be asleep, blanketed in shimmering snow, but for today, the chill of autumn is sweet.
© Red Dwyer 2011
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