There is something in this,
something of pulse and breath and life,
this rhythmic running of the blood,
this drawing of all that is of us—
mind, heart, body, spirit.
 
Can you hear it?
Can you feel the call of music
pulling us into this mellow merging
of something greater
than the sum of its parts?
 
Boundaries fade
amidst the swaying
of hips and shoulders,
older joining younger
in the calming thunder of bass,
the stirring riffs of mandolin,
the crystal clinking of banjo,
mellow merging of flat-picked acoustic guitar
and the sweet careening of fret-less fiddle.
 
There is something here of worship,
of peace and love
of sweat and beer,
rednecks and hippies,
college kids and blue collar groupies,
and a dozen other sorts of souls,
all seeking the summit of Yonder Mountain.
 
I join the dance pit crowd,
near the front and toward the middle,
note the bobbing heads,
swinging arms,
feet shuffling, sliding, tilted,
eyes half-closed and hands lifted
in triumphant surrender.
 
 
 
H. Arnett
4/22/15