They come in fragments, sharp snippets like shrapnel, interrupting slumber and the sweetest afternoon daydreams. Thoughts that pierce, stick in the teeth, cling like bristly, unrelenting seeds to fur, looking for any way in, to take hold, to wrap their roots like serpents around the breathing, beating places. But I am learning that old songs, sounds from a time of stars and light, will send them to scatter. I strike the tuning fork, feel it reverberate against my breast bone, starting rhythms that would move mountains and uncork volcanoes, they shepherd these undertones and overtones into pitch.
Hello there!
I was so glad to find you still doing some reverb; every time I think of reverb, I always think of you. I think you got me into it, that one year! :)
From where I sit, you continue to delight, amaze, and intrigue with your interpretations. You use such great picture-words that I find myself rereading just to see it all over again.
And when you strike the tuning fork, I 'hear' it through my bones. Fantastic.
Posted by: Becky B | January 06, 2016 at 07:51 PM