Woodwinds

Begin the day... and I awaken to the gentle tingling Of the morning mists even flow, nights final breath. And malaised by the murky shroud impeding the sunrise, I intently await the unfurling of natures crack of Dawn, when - Enter, an eerie chant of pipes, its echo conjures my curious side; A sudden, biting thrust approaching with intrusion. Its sound an eerie, whining, pitch...I spin in awkward motion, To reveal the source and contain my obsessive quench for peril. But Woodwinds in the air? I'm alerted to scriptural warnings; Woodwinds in the air... Read the Book! I have long lamented thru' each yellowed page... Now I pause- When, my God, I am besieged by a thunderous chorus of woodwinds. Groups of sixes or sevens? Its numeral symbol reveals the source. Shall I prepare for strike or implore absolution, when suddenly I- Ascend my head to the clarion skies, my eyes pooled with awe To a flock of natures flyers, ensconced in melodic exchange. Juxtaposed in arrowed flank, their conductor at the point; No steeds nor trumpets here, nor beasts with jagged horns. Yes, woodwinds in the air, but the message speaks Genesis, as I close my eyes to embrace the sound of natures free concert. © MMXVII All rights reserved Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR