A Song of Thanksgiving

What I want to sing is this;

a song of thanks to those

with whom I sing,

with whom I share the music,

a song which sings of all the ways

in which we move as one,

and how our eyes soften,

how our hands paint the air

around us, fingers parting,

wrists gently curving

upward and outward.

The hands are never stiff;

the hands are singing, too,

in tune with the hum and thrum

of our collective bodies,

our knees loosening and

our bodies sometimes swaying,

as if in trance, as if dancing

to an invisible thread

joining one singer to the other

and then the other, and the other,

as if we have become a waterfall

of sound.  But, no, not just sound,

my notes touching your notes,

our collective breath within the circle

becoming one breath,

as when molecules of water

join to dance and tumble,

over rocks and polished stones,

gliding through the waiting air,

There are not enough words

to hold all of what happens

when singing voices are conjoined.

Of course, there is the throat,

but that is simply the outlet.

So much comes before that,

the pumping of the air, deep

within the earth of our bodies,

the lungs opening, expanding,

so gently and steadily

set the music free.

And there are so many ways

that sight comes into play,

as our eyes meet,

and I send the joy I feel to you

and you to me, and then on to others

who receive, and absorb the same joy

by which we ourselves are cradled.

We also taste the sweetness

on our tongues, as the notes glide outward.

There really are not, and never will be,

sufficient words. So, let’s just call it love.

Amy Metzler-Clough