“the liquid coolness of things drawn from the bottom of springs,” said Thoreau, of the song of a wood thrush.
A song I’ve yet to hear, but I’ve been told I should, paired with a wonderful singing voice, awaits out in the future night. Or perhaps it will be day when I hear that lay.
Will that song remind me of drawing water from the well of spring? (A task I’ve never done.)
Or will it evoke the heat of campfires on bitter winter nights?
Take away my breath as I plunge into a glacial lake not yet warmed by summer sun?
Restore it; a rescuer’s timely arrival on the scene, as waves wash my breathless body on the strand?
Will anticipation sour the grapes? Or sweeten the long awaited musical embrace?
I’ll pray I’ll hear it someday, even if only by His grace.
Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore
Musings of a Kunderian Monster 