Violin strings plucked by the wind delicately as if being in the process of transcending this world.
Light, and airy longing to fly far beyond our reach.
She leans in, her slender arm carsessing the darkened wood
And then swoops down like a sharp eyed hawk, new melodies emerging.
She flies over a prairie searching for creatures to add to her songs.
Continuing to flap delicately as if not to scare the idea away.
And ascending further into the sky.
Then, slowly, the melody descends,
Till nothing is left to catch,
Or to fish out of the depths of her mind.
And her song falls out, into silence.
