Issue 4 – Garber

Brad G. Garber

How It Began

I sat near to the stream and listened to the mumbling tones
And small pebbles tumbling like bells into a broad chorus
The wind trembling through thin aspen leaves
Entwining with whispers of sage blossoms in bloom.
The warbling of coyotes, feathery swish of owls, bellicose toads
Crickets scraping, cicadas buzzing, the pretentious crowing of grouse
Rasp of cranes, the quiet conversations of quail fell silent
Beneath a blinding moon and the deafness of the earth.
I drank the water and gathered stones in my hand and held the wind
In my hair like the scent of birth and the heartbeat of music.
I returned and, in the light of embers told stories in naked sound.