Blossom

My last post was April 14th––over two months ago––and nothing much has changed with the pandemic. It is still raging and cases are rising again in America as people refuse to believe science, experts, and advice to wear masks to protect other citizens. There has also been racial unrest and protests of every kind.
So this poem is about a very small, innocent pleasure I am missing this summer among all the tragedy and needless suffering. In northeast Ohio we have a large outdoor concert venue called Blossom Music Center. Every famous band and musician has been there over its 50+ years, but it is also the summer home of the world famous Cleveland Orchestra. I sang in the Blossom Festival Chorus behind that orchestra for over fifteen years.

Blossom

What I will miss the most

is the grass checkered with blankets,

the light dimming with each movement,

crystalline sounds, the bows slivering

the stage into tiny shards of aural wonder

until they disperse into the night.

Then the moment of silence before the 

eruption of the crowd, like thunder 

under the shelter of wood and sky.

How my eyes will fill from the beauty,

how I will recall all the years on that stage,

one cog in a triumphant musical chorus.

I will even miss the long and slow walk 

back to the car among thousands of others,

pulling our coolers of wine and cheese,

blissful and sated under a tiara of stars.