She Sings

The singers enter quietly, gently, but still her image leaps out to me. The burnished gold that forms ths magic of her hair cascades over the blue robe and tumbles down her back.

The music starts. I strain to hear her voice but cannot, for she blends into perfect oneness with the others.

But still...there is her face...a transcendent mixture of knowledge and feeling. The minutes pass and the harmony saturates me. I have known this music, but never like this.

The waterfall of human voices build to their finale and stop, leaving only that magical silence.

As those around me express themselves in a cacophony of appreciation, the singers' magic fades, save that of    one, her aura still reaching for me, touching me.

Garry M. DeLong
October, 1983