Page 11--Untitled Dec. 2007--Beth Rolingson

An American artist

and a Czech musician
stare at the fire, break bread,
and drink the distilled plum of the orchards outside.
They muse on the Muse.

The scene is out of sync with the swirling sands of time.

It is February

and the Christmas tree still stands in the center of the room.

Hung with apples,

wax candles in its boughs,
the tree is from a line of trees
that have emerged from the forest to occupy this room,

this very room,

for seven hundred seasons.

The two are not alone.

For company they have the wisps of those

who have moved through this space yesterday

and long ago.

A ghost hovers at the hearth,

wrapped in the music and the light.

Treble notes of the twinkling candles,

bass fiddle, roaring fireplace,

moon song and the orchestra of the spiraling universe.

Even this is a memory

contained in the room.

Art by Tom Besson

www.tombesson.com