TUNING IN

Kate Kirkland

Thin. A petroglyph unfolding from a wall,

he moves from the shuttle.

His reverent first step

contacts the soil with compassion.

He treads cautiously hoping the soil’s surface

scuffed by many will soon be restored.

Canyon courier, the wren, hovers

encoding the foot prints’ message

into a warbled prelude

affirming this one comes to listen

soon amplified by the Canyon’s breathy breeze.

The seasonal symphony of nature begins to tune.

Random sounds assemble:

shrubs begin their snare drum rustle

water washed rocks are soprano tones in the sun

The scurry of wild life — a tambourine flourish.

Mountains vibrate bass chords in the echoes of their stone.

Shadows mingle, sending reminders of still

hidden images that signal : andante

With the tuning fork of an uncluttered mind

he will know the secrets of ageless harmony.

Many are the visitors with camera eyes

clamoring to see the next photo opportunity,

acting as a megaphone of city noise,

armed with advice literature

they need to judge what they should know.

They leave not knowing

the instruments of Zion or hearing the melody.

[box]This post is one of the winning entries in the Z-Arts 2013 Writing Contest and has been reprinted here with permission of the author, who retains the copyright. Opinions expressed in this piece are not necessarily those of the Zion Arts and Humanities Council.[/box]