• Until the day I heard your call,
• An unborn lived within these walls
• Of blood and flesh and bone.
• My self responded eagerly
• To tools that were right for me.
• Tools you hold within your hands
• That knock down walls
• And put in doors
• To thresholds I’ve not crossed before.
• Vistas once hidden from my eyes,
• A panorama realized.
• My soul is free to soar again.
• My fear was just a growing pain

• The intruder broke security
• The stillness in dead of night
• The honking cacaphony
• Alerted geese in Southern flight
• Who looked below with watchful eye
• But seeing no brethren in distress
• Added to the melody
• With raucous noisiness
• We woke and peered through window shades
• Leery of seeing the aftermath
• And there on the top of our honking car
• Sat our very own cat who was taking a bath.

Can the tale of sound be told?
Seen and felt instead of heard?
If it’s possible to do,
I offer you these words.

Fingers of breeze caress the trees, which move with sultry sway.
Quiet, sweet as honey, as dusk overtakes the day.
The blandness of night seasoned
By salty cricket’s rill,
The icy screech of waking owl, hastening evening’s chill.

Rainbow cacophony-chirping birds at dawn.
Sharp crimson of the cardinal’s whistling, wake-up song,
The electric blue of the jays first cry,
The dove’s muted, gray and mourning sigh.

Ripples of a child’s laughter, sea lapping sandy shore.
A penny’s lonely echo, meeting well’s empty floor.

If mixing all the senses could create a wish come true,
These words of sight would be reborn, visions of sound for you.