The Hills are Alive

Ephemeral each note like the wind passing by,  

     yet touches the spirit sublime.

Dr Abe V Rotor

The Hills are Alive in acrylic AVRotor 2011

I hear the breeze in the trees like melody of the pipe,

     And the cadence of the clarinet;

Downstream the rolling, rumbling of snare drums, 

     Stones clicking like castanet.

Sweet violins I hear from cicadas on the treetops,

     While robins sing in their nest; 

Distant thunder rolls like muffled bass and gong,

     Frogs boom with their breast.

I imagine the sound of the butterfly gathering nectar,

     Each flower a melody;

I imagine the clouds ever changing, making faces,

     Dynamics of harmony.

Music audible and imagined makes the hills alive,
     An orchestra in its prime;
Ephemeral each note like the wind passing by,  
     Yet touches the spirit sublime. ~