Welcome to the Quilt of Dragonflies. Like a quilt, I have a bit of everything...Patterns you may not think would come together until you see them as a patchwork. I attempt to convey my view of the world through daily poems, and sometimes quotes or pictures.
Shel Silverstein once wrote, "If you are a dreamer, come in."
Quilt of Dragonflies- My blog is named that for a reason.I am lucky enough to own a genuine Quilt of Dragonflies, which I am sure brings me good dreams when I sleep beneath it. It was given to me by a friend of my mother's, who handmade the entire thing. Color meets pattern in this fantastic piece of artwork which sits on my bed. Brilliant shades of purple, blue, and green intersperse with tie dye dragonflies. I will not hesitate to call it my inspiration.
At this concert, the music
Of the band, the raised voices
Consumes the listener. Dances
Upon the senses, the fiddle
Singing to the tune’s rhythm,
Fills the room with joy.
The audience, brimming with the joy
Of listening to the music
Tap their feet to the rhythm.
In each song, different voices
Following the lead of the fiddle
Cause the listeners’ hearts to dance.
When the banjo weeps, a slow dance
Of human suffering repressing joy
Until the entrance of the fiddle
Once again, happiness in the music.
With each note, the dulcet voices
Slide through the song rhythm.
The tune quickens its rhythm
Feet tap again, itching to dance
Caught up in the reel, the voices
Pause, leaving room for the joy
To come bursting out of the music
Created by the song of the fiddle.
Water for the player of the fiddle
She is worn out by the rhythm,
The audience claps for the music
To continue its lively dance
They long for an overdose of joy
A sojourn now, the babble of voices.
Intermission, each with their voice
Speak of the guitar, the fiddle
In the face of each listener, joy
A spring in each step, a rhythm
From the heart, they long to dance
To fall back into the music
They feel the joy of the voices
Enraptured by the music of the fiddle
Sensing the rhythm of the dance.
it's the toe tapping music. head nodding, clapping, heart beating to the rhythm of the song. her fingers dance across the strings of her violin, his fly across the keys of the accordion. there is a guitar too, a banjo a tambourine that rattles its clear voice along with the song.
this is a proper reel, she shouts every so often, someone beats at the floor with a boot, keeping the band in time. their joy fills the hall to the brim, overflowing out into the dark night, setting the stars on edge. in the audience, some cannot contain their grins, others sit perfectly still, unwilling to move and risk changing a single aspect of the concert.
the band quickens, laughing at their daring, tossing their heads. they are the race horses in the moments before a race, overcome with expectation. a two beat pause of perfect silence. then the fiddler begins.
her fingers fly, her bow conducting them, hips swaying back and forth, feet stomping, she casts out the mesmerizing notes to the audience. they are held within her spell.
one by one, they are all back in again. the banjo, guitar, accordion, tambourine, filling the spaces within the song with ease, sliding into notes they have created, shouting out their story for the world to hear. in this, the final leg of the reel, no eye moves from the bright players of the stage. each one is smiling, floating on the tune, quickening to the last.
the man on the accordion draws out a final note, pulling the pleats of noise from the depths of the reel. all others hold to the note dearly, slowing to take a breath for the first time since the song began. the audience exhales as one with the band. laughing, shouting, clapping, as the band bows and begins another tune.