Source

source

Everywhere she turned, she heard music. It took some time before she realized that it was coming from her. She was the source.

She had always known it was buried deep within her. Sometimes it almost surfaced, got loud enough so that she actually began to hear words along with the melody. Lyrics–they must be lyrics; part of a song, a story. A lyrical story. And she wanted, no she needed to hear it.

Perhaps she needed to sing it, but how could she, if the words were not clear?

She felt as if she was a bell just learning how to ring. Ring with a capital R. Add the word Right, to that. Didn’t she have the right to hear the music inside of her?

Why else would it be there, if not for her to hear?

Advertisements

About CarolWiebe

Art entices, inspires, and delights me. Art is a vehicle for laughter, tears, wonder, enlightenment--taking me on a constant path of discovery. You can't say that about housework (except, perhaps, for the crying part).
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s