Bamboo
The sound came slowly at first and in no apparent order. Crack. We stood, just the two of us in the afternoon twilight crack and tried to see the sky, but it was hidden most of the time, some of the time it played “Peek a boo, I see you� between the fingers of leaves hovering overhead. Crack. Crack. The shaded air touched our skin, but we didn’t mind because it felt good to be there a million miles away from everything crack and everyone crack, and we thought we could take some of this bamboo and build us a home and live right here in our own bamboo forest and listen to the sound of wood on wood in the cool of the afternoon.
Crack. A small wind entered. The giant green stalks stood in attention before their conductor. We took a breath, and everything became percussion. Drums exploded as the trees collided in a frenzy of rhythm. The leaves joined in, playing the hollow wood like an African djembe. The music was all around us and within us joining our blood pumping from heart to vein and back again, pulsing with life. We yelled and yelled joining the applause all around us. And then the crashing stopped. Crack. We stood still breathing heavily as our pulse began to slow. Crack. The bamboo trees rested reaching high into the heavens.