Soulful Rock

Unnoticed Melodies at Tinmouth Pond

Barbara D. Parks-Lee

Birds line up on the wires
like black notes on a staff.

A rock, older than time,
softly hums its music
not only to itself but also
in concert with other rocks
around it—and also with me.

The crunch of gravel as the car approaches
beats a percussive accompaniment
to the morning’s rhythm,
while clouds crescendo
against the mountain’s crest,
waiting for the imminent tympani of thunder
amidst the chirping of birds,
like high C’s from a coloratura soprano.
The lowing of Guernsey cows
provides the sound of cellos,
and the whispers of winds through trees
resemble the sweet sounds of a harp.
The squeak of a table
brings in the violin
as well as the flute and the piccolo.
Mountain peaks seem like chests that inhale,
then exhale rhythms in nature’s cathedral
of emerald, chartreuse, and hunter
while an occasional outcropping
of whitened trees, long void of leaves,
stand as soldierly conductors
directing the concertos
I seldom take the time to hear.
To take the time to appreciate nature’s music
influences my breath, sharpens my hearing,
massages my eyes, and reaffirms
my connectedness to everyone and everything.

It allows me to rejoice in the essences
not only of people but also in the soul
of a rock beside the road,
at the entrance to Tinmouth Pond, Vermont.