how it effortlessly eases me from my Melancholy, sweetening bitter life, to a treble aria sung pure.

 A Theme, Raising the frost kissed meadow flower to it's yesterday vibrant bloom, echoing Medieval ode's telling

of woe and strife through the medium of the lute self taught, the jesters colors dance within my  closed minds eye.

Sinking, dreaming my dormant hand feels the cold running stream, the contentment of a child in a loved ones arms

the security and watchful eye of sense ever caring ever present.

The Theme, sweeping me as an unexpected kiss a realization of chance ,small but within delicate reach.

Raised am I, soaring above the Scottish Monro drifting upon the warm air carrying the Eagle out of harm

seeing the fern and bracken canvas below ,sensing the loch's touch as it perpetually meets the rolling shingle shore.