Be Still.

RenéE Christine Ehle

Eighth Day


 

In the beginning was a void, an absence,

less than silence.  

 

Then, there was wood, and a lathe.  

Smoothed and varnished.  Wool washed 

 

and felted, wires pulled 

taut between pegs.  A hammer, 

 

more than one.  

Pedals, rods, bone.  

 

Then, fingers:  

Notes and chords, arpeggios.

 

And there was music, 

and there was rest. 

 

And God heard, 

and God 

 

sang.

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Diane Calvert, Flight into Egypt

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Steve barnwell, So Close, So Far Away

Why, why, why?