The Rehearsal

I stopped to hear
the children's choir rehearse for their concert.
It was a summer afternoon
and the children were singing of a willow tree and love.
It was an old song
the melody beautiful, soaring, and
mature.
The music was beyond their years--it was too big for them
and their experience.

I began to think about these children as they sang.

I imagined each child's soul was a river, fresh and pure.
Dark waters rushed by, like time.
Rocks were skipping on the surface of each soul-river
and the children were reborn each day
into someone
new.

But, the soaring melody the children sang
brought a profound stillnes to their soul-rivers.
The waters were motionless and transparent.
I could imagine a clear view of colored stones that lay,
like unearthed gems,
at the bottom of the still rivers.
A bright light had gone deep
and the children's souls glistened like jewels
as they sang of the willow tree and love.

Just for a moment,
they had grown up.

They understood
hardship,
sadness,
suffering,
death,
love,
wonder,
the world.

They understood beauty.

Music was the master.
Music was the teacher.
Music was the light.