Flute and Stone ~ #003 March 2014 – Haiga/Haibun for The Phoneography Challenge: Macro
This Step into Spring
a short distance. a short downhill block to a busy street that becomes a highway a little further on. I cross this street with care. there is no light or stop sign. no crosswalk here. just cars and trucks and semis picking up speed or slowing down late. signs read 35 MPH. 45 MPH is the norm. they pass in groups. three, five, six or more at a time. a long string of them. eleven, fifteen or more. eighteen. twenty-six. I count sometimes. I’ve lost count in the high numbers of 50 or maybe it was 60? it’s the same in both directions. and then there is a brief break both ways.
another short block downhill. and at the curve in the road I step around a guard rail. and off into wilderness.
a few feet more and road sounds disappear. replaced by the sound. of birds across a deep gorge. a light breeze high up. stirring tree tops.
sometimes it’s a gorge and sometimes it’s a valley. the trail (a single file foot path) unwinds in both directions. it’s not an official trail. no signs. no warnings. no railings. it’s just where people who know it’s there walk.
and animals of course.
deer and smaller creatures. I’ve been told bears have occasionally been spotted here. but not recently. a few years ago maybe.
I walk upstream today. I’m not really close to the stream although at times I can hear it. it varies, sometimes I’m as close as 150 feet. other times I’m a football filed or more away from the tumbling water. and considerably above it. sound carries between the close walls and over the open distances.
it’s beautiful to me here. the sound and all I can see is a world where the touch of a human hand is unapparent. a butterfly flits past my hand. a few inches away. unconcerned by my presence on its butterfly trail. or near it. I’m simply another changing obstacle to go around here.
the sunlight is bright. warm. when I stand directly in it. my eyes are not used to the intensity of this much sunlight.
the breeze is still chilly. it comes down through the trees still clinging to winter from higher up. where snow lingers in the shade.
I know where I intend to stop. I’ve been here a number of times. first I take a little side trail that is hard to notice. I still have to watch for it. closely. or I’ll walk by it too. it starts out across a small meadow. where it looks like it just goes to a couple of trees on the other side of the field. it actually slips around the trees. you only know this will happen when you reach the trees though. most people move on along the main trail. which eventually wanders down to the stream in another 20-25 minutes of walking.
around the trees and another 3-4 minutes of walking I come to a stone outcropping. the outcropping is small and not visible from the main trail. even in winter. it jets out over the edge of the drop off. maybe a hundred feet below there are small boulders and stones that slope on down to the water. the water is maybe 200 feet away here. I look out over the gorge with a 250 degree view left to right. far up stream I can see where the trail comes down to the water. and far downstream I can see beyond where I first connected to the main trial. it takes me close to an hour to get here depending on how often I stop when this is my goal.
I sit. the stone is warm. birds call across the open space. I see them flitting from branch to bush on the far side of the gorge. it’s just movement. too far for me to identify most of them. I notice a crow. and a hawk high up circling. the sound of smaller birds close by. something rustling in the leaves. maybe a shrew. or a field mouse.
I do not read music. I can not play a recognizable song on any instrument. although my aunt once taught me a few notes on a piano to a song that I wanted to learn. I can still play those notes. she couldn’t teach me the full song. she could read the music she said but she didn’t know how it was supposed to sound. we stopped after a few attempts. I just kept playing what I’d learned. over and over. every time I found a piano. because I knew how that part was supposed to sound. and I like it. I’m glad she taught me those notes.
I like flutes too. I’ve collected them on travels. I’ve learned to play on these flutes. sounds that I like. in patterns I enjoy. the feeling of the sounds. lightness or heaviness. sad or full of excitement. slow and fluttering. or fast and chippy. soft and breathy or sharp and piercing. sounds. I like to explore them. string them together in patterns. this is fun to me. the sound of movement I watch. or the colors I see. or the scent of a spring evening. or the way the wind feels against my skin. hot and thick. or cold and thin. reedy. a memory. full of laughter. or moans. the sound of insects. the rhythm of rain. I like playing this way. I can repeat a feel and pattern and it will sound similar. or like a variation on something I’ve played at other times. each time I come around to it. this is how I play. very few people have heard me play this way. I just play because I like it. it’s for me. my breath. the wind. and sound.
today on this stone I begin to play out over the valley gorge. it’s my greeting to spring. just like all the other creatures here. we begin our cycles into a new season.
the sound of a flute
my breath among stones
this spring
Altered Photograph
- 8 x 12 Inches @ 300 ppi
- iPad 2 Digital Camera
- Digital Drawing and Painting
- PhotoStudio App
- Glaze App
- Perfect Effects 8
- Adobe Photoshop Elements 12
This is my response to the Lens and Pens by Sally blog Phoneography Challenge, the Phone as Your Lens: 2014—Macro, March 10, 2014. The theme or focus for the Second Monday of the month is Macro.
My response is in the form of haibun. One of the many Haiku and Related Forms in the field of poetry.
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