His lips, lungs, diaphragm, and fingers launch the flute's sound.
I drink in the flow, the open round spaced notes.
Outside, rain patterns dot swift green whispering waters.
Chris fishes from a large rock with a friend's child.
They catch and release under clouds a shade of silver
deeper than the sky. A bird observes the big and small fishers.
Music compresses our humanity, teases beauty out of a tree,
a rock, one's own body. The music slips inside and opens in the rain.