"Music was my refuge.
I could crawl into the space
between the notes
and curl my back
against the loneliness."
- m. angelou
the days
were long when
she was
small
too much noise
for a heart that thrived
inside the stillness
of a softer light,
the filtered
lens of
dawn and dusk
a child that
longed for
the deckled edges
of a gentler
season,
the subtler notes of
poetry and
psalms,
the faded colors of
something
handled often
and so well-loved --
fabric frayed and
tears stained
with hope and sorrow,
comfort
and
sleep
she searched for
corners
where the gold
of lamplight
barely
reached -- yet
just
enough for
reading
Dickens and
James,
Austen and
Bronte
she sought the
strains of
DeBussy and
Barber,
leaned into the the
sorrowing
notes --
minor chords
that gave her space to
cry
fat, hot
tears that
would not come in the
bright company
of
a DJ's
choice --
the top ten
heard on
a summer's day
by the
neighborhood
pool
she found her
home in
snow falling on
still waters
a place
where
geese rose and
circled,
and
hungry
deer
tiptoed through
the pinions
as tenderly as
the
first notes
of
an adagio
for
strings
low,
sad,
and
sweet --
she
held
her breath
for this
was what she'd
waited
for
and she
curled herself
into that
quiet
moment of
grace
and the
tears
fell
as
soft
as
snow
"snow on snow
had fallen,
snow, on snow
on snow...”
~ c. rossetti
Beautiful...
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