I sat there

in a chair



in the meadow across the dirt road from my summer cabin in Sweden, Maine, and everything was colors. The grass, green with yellow flowers of sunlight. The sky, a deep, rich blue, for it was almost sunset. The clouds that were in the sky ranged from pure white to a comical red-orange. I was alone, but the colors were my company.



And the chair was white.

This was my favorite time of night.



"You need to open up, to try new things, to feel new sensations."

"Oh, I see. How do I do that?"



I heard them coming from behind me. I didn't turn to look. I knew they were walking toward me so I would see them sooner or later.



As they drifted by, I noticed their clothes. The person being talked to was younger and wore all black. The person doing the talking was decidedly older and wore tie-dyed pants and a tie-dyed shirt. The boy's hair matched his clothes, black and straight. The older man's hair was quite the opposite, white and curly.

"Well," said the old man, "you start by giving your eyes a rest."

"Huh?"

"We as mammals do most of our learning by mimicking what we see. Thus the emphasis is taken away from the other possibly more enjoyable senses."

"Like hearing."

"Exactly! We'll even use that as an example. You've seen a musical score for a symphony?"

"Uh...yeah, yeah I have."

"Well, what do you get out of it just by looking at it?"

"Nothing at all; just jumbled black dots."

"But when you close your eyes and listen to the music, it's a whole other ball game. The musicians can fill even the most desolate places 'til they're suffused with beauty and tranquility."



I didn't hear the boy's response, if he had one.



I continued to sit there even though the kaleidoscope of the day had turned into a monotone night. In the blackness I was truly alone. I then remembered the old man's words. As my eyes closed, a symphony of sounds was unveiled before my ears.



The crickets playing violin.

The baying hound dogs on cello.

The bullfrogs croaking bass.

The tree frogs whistling flute.

The owls hooting clarinet.

The loons moaning bassoon,

and my heart keeping the beat. n