Will the circle…be unbroken?
A haunting melody caught my ear and before I had quite decided to, my feet slowed to a stop. A nagging voice in my head muttered something about how the forecast said ran and I needed to finish my workout and head home, but that rich voice was a siren call. My heavy breathing and my pounding heart, even the rush of traffic that constantly invaded the little park day in and day out, seemed to fade away. My ears filled with the sound of that single, rich voice and the wind whispering through the trees sssshhhh…sssshhhh.
By and by. Oh, by and…by.
I gingerly walked deeper into the park, peering behind trees and bushes with as little twig snapping as possible. Afraid to make too much noise and break the spell. As I rounded a corner on the dirt path, a sun-bleached bench came into view from behind an olive tree. A girl sat on the edge of the seat, her shiny black flats swinging freely underneath. She was facing away from me, but I guessed her age to be around seven. She was unremarkable except for the cleanliness of her butter yellow sundress and white jacket, the wonderful posture in her straight back and loose shoulders, and the intoxicatingly full voice that emanated from her spot on the bench.
Is a better…home awaiting?
It took me a moment to realize she was the one singing. The voice that woke me out of my jog was an adult's, empowered by a vocalist's training and long experience with life's hardships. But there was no one else in the park and those small feet swung in time with the song. I gingerly heel-toed up to the side of the bench, not wanting to interrupt her, but drawn even more to the beautiful melody now that I could hear it clearly.
In the sky. Lord, in…the sky…
The air seemed to still, waiting with bated breath for the next note. The girl obliged, humming the tune instead of singing. The wordless melody still filled the air, a current of energy independent of volume that set the molecules between us vibrating with the force of it. It yanked at my heart and set fire to my nerves, but I wasn't sure what to do with it. Maybe that's why I spoke up.
"You have a beautiful voice."
The girl didn't respond, the tempo of her feet and the rhythm in her throat never stuttering. I crept a little closer and crouched down to her eye-level, uncertain, but still wanting to express myself somehow.
"You sound like your singing to someone."
Again, no response.
"Who gave you such beautiful music?"
All at once, the notes fell away and her legs let gravity slow her feet to a stop. But the child didn't notice me. She pointed to the sky in front of her, her head tipped back so that her sun hat tipped precariously.
"God is poking at the sky."
The voice should have shocked me; the fullness and maturity of it spoke of one much older than her body indicated. But the movement of her finger brought my head around to follow and I turned to take in the sky.
'It's huge. And it does look like God has been poking at it.'
The normally flat, gray expanse was interspersed with little upside-down hills that were just a shade darker at the peaks than at the bases. Sort of like a sheet of oven-toasted marshmallows was blocking our view of the sun. But the girl's odd statement brought to mind the image of a giant index finger tapping at the globe and making indents in the cloud cover. I felt like laughing at the silliness of it, but the sky and the thought were just too beautiful for me to ruin. So I took in the view and mulled over her statement before turning to face the bench.
She was gone. I stared at her perch for a moment, not quite sure if the last five minutes had been real. But as I stood and shook out my sore knees, I stared up. The clouds and the thought she had given me still remained. I would welcome the haunting melody in my dreams for a long time.