A cellist in Sarajevo
once played for 22 days in a row
to honor 22 people who were killed by a mortar
as they waited in line for bread.
When asked “How can you play music
when bombs are being dropped all around?”
He replied, “No, the question is,
how can people drop bombs
when there is such beautiful music?”
Today we paddled our kayaks
across a lake
and into a creek
between canyon walls lush with
willow, alder, cottonwood,
maple, fir, pine,
madrone, oak, cedar
Green upon green upon green
in so many different hues
Bald Eagle greeted us
by swooping over our heads
and hundreds of dragonflies
darted above the water.
Little fish swam just below
and the loudest sound
was the fluting call
of a hermit thrush.
This time on quiet water
among green trees and with
our other-than-human relatives
is necessary
Because for some unfathomable reason
people do drop bombs
and hurt children
and pretend there is no climate change
and we need to remind ourselves of
what is good and real and beautiful.
There is music.
There is the fragrance of the pines
on a warm summer day.
There is the kiss of our beloved.
There is the laughter of a happy child
as she bounces on our lap
and sings her little song.
There is the fluting call
of the hermit thrush.
If we can keep these in our hearts
we will be strong enough
to go into the belly of the beast
and put out its fire
with the sweet, sweet waters
of love.