The Flute and the Flutist
A beautiful song in May
Long weary miles.
Many dangers.
Heart and wings beating
with the fierce, primordial need
to return to the glade
where its finite life began.
Too few of its brethren remain.
Too few who still remember
how the pulse of spring
and the quest for home
roils the blood
and entices the soul.
In you, modest thrush,
flute and the flutist are one.
Sharing the same harmonious gift,
a tremolo once heard, never forgotten,
creating in a moment of timeless longing
a melody to grace the sacred land of our dreams.
The American nature writer and poet Henry David Thoreau is credited with describing the wood thrush as “the flute of the woods”. Anyone who has ever heard a wood thrush in May pouring forth its ethereal song, may experience in that moment what a celestial flutist might sound like. A wood thrush can rarely be seen, but its haunting melody cannot be forgotten.
I must admit that I would have loved to hear a wood thrush while taking a walk with Henry David Thoreau. Unfortunately, it would take time travel back to the mid 1800’s to accomplish that!
