Music in the snow
The lilt of her voice as i drive,
soft strum of a guitar,
The hanging notes.
If not for music stories wine songs,
what is there ?
Sometimes just the need for company,
a lonely silent walk through the snow.
The air so heavy I could hardly breathe,
these past weeks.
Weights like stones upon my shoulders.
And then ....
Driving into the evening
and the music.
It courses, a river of sound
I weave down the road to the ebb
and flow of her voice.
In another life I would be on horse back,
tearing across the fields,
hooves pounding on white earth,
my breath a plume of smoke.
Down the hill to where you might
or might not
And I, out of breath,
would laugh and fling myself into the snow.
Walking on air.
on the music.