Symphony of Sound
I stand upon a bank of the muddy river waiting for a unique symphony of sounds that only night can bring. The powerful damp smell of tamarisk and vegetation from the river fills the air. The river is alive with its own unique fragrances. The sun sets over the horizon, disappearing beneath the sky, changing it into a vast array of reds, golds, and oranges. Everything is silent except for the soft rippling of the lazy waters of the muddy river. A cool breeze blows across the forest, catching a flock of sparrows as they fly away. The mule deer call out into the evening. Darkness sneaks across the land.

Unhindered by street lights, the moon and stars dance about each other; ever glowing, and twinkling until dawn. Like a predator, the cold begins to creep in, chilling and bone numbing, the night breeze giving it a bite. It moves through the dense forest and across the river’s lazy waters.

The cold bites at my face. I continue to stand upon the bank of the muddy river taking in the water’s soft whooshing sounds. The forest of vegetation surrounding me comes alive. My ears jump with excitement as toads begin to croak and birds begin to sing, followed by the chirping of crickets and the soft whooshing of muddy water on the riverbank. A breeze blows rattling the tops of the tamarisks contributing to the sounds of the symphony. It continues to sail softly.

As night comes to a close the stars cease their twinkling and the symphony of sound quiets briefly. As day replaces night, the day conductor replaces the night.

The day musicians take their seats and begin to play. The sounds of morning fills my ears, I find myself relaxed and at peace. In my thoughts I applaud the conductor of a well-played performance; a concert I will never forget.

The Writer

They say there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. If a man thinks he can write, does that make him genius or insane for trying. I ask myself, are we born with talent, or is talent created in us? I guess not all of us are naturally gifted or talented. I assume that gifts or talents would have to be built with practice, dedication and commitment.

They say “put your heart into it” but what about your soul? Is compassion or lust for grammar and written word a sin? I don’t know. Does it make me mad with insanity? Sometimes.

The pen is an instrument of the mind; only through it will my thoughts find relief. So they say there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. Which one am I, at this time I don’t really know; which one am I?