Resting on a tuft of green grass surrounded by a sea of shifting emerald blades and dancing blossoms was I; buttressed by cool fingers, while warm scents danced around. Thirsting, I supped them all up, rolling them around my palate like wine. When breath was full and used and the fill of which I could no longer stand, I exhaled. Lips pursed as to kiss my breath, out flew thousands of shimmering gossamer waves of lacewings. My eyes grew wide and I felt no lessening in the tide of exiting pterygota. Mixed with the fluttering green kites were now fireflies in similar volume, then butterflies of surprising variety. Soon the entire milieu about my little throne was aflutter with millions of little wings. Never at any moment did it seem crowded or confused, only all too orderly and brilliant. Now fully deflated, I lent back on an elbow and surveyed the scene and the sweet music therein. It seemed that rather than the ubiquitous sounds of maddening insect wings there was in its place a symphony of crystalline tones and woodwinds as a silent zephyr moved through the ballet and the ceiling of sheltering treetops.
The afternoon sun settled its gaze enough to allow a coolness to pour through the bowl. The music continued well into the night with the evenness of a plumb line, though never was the melody tiring. It seemed ever changing and the volume was almost subliminal, allowing easy and complete thought, never interrupting. The moon rose high in place of the slumbering sun; the transition unnoticed, seamless as the light never fully faded. Truly the planetary rotation had little to do with it; the millions of warm shuddering bodies still busy about the space above my head had a glow of their own. A luminescent haze of shimmering music lit the glade and the wide branches of the tree above my perch.
The afternoon sun settled its gaze enough to allow a coolness to pour through the bowl. The music continued well into the night with the evenness of a plumb line, though never was the melody tiring. It seemed ever changing and the volume was almost subliminal, allowing easy and complete thought, never interrupting. The moon rose high in place of the slumbering sun; the transition unnoticed, seamless as the light never fully faded. Truly the planetary rotation had little to do with it; the millions of warm shuddering bodies still busy about the space above my head had a glow of their own. A luminescent haze of shimmering music lit the glade and the wide branches of the tree above my perch.
