Senses

Senses

I sit quietly within a forest clearing.
My eyes are closed like someone sight deprived.
I hear the whistles, tweets, and chatters.
Water tumbling in the creek.
Wind speaking through the trees.
A cone crashing through the branches,
a dull thud when it lands.
Thunder rumbling, and in the distance,
Abbey Bells.

How much more I hear when my eyes are closed.
Sounds that are so beautiful,
sounds that tell a story.
Each with a different voice.
Try it sometime when you have little else to do.

Imagine that your hearing is your only sense.
There is so much to be learned, my friends,
from the sounds around us.
Sight, though itself a gift
can dull the sense of hearing,
the sense of smell,
and the gentle sense of touch.
Try each alone without the aid of all the others.
You'll be surprised, I think,
by the power of each and every sense.
Take not any one for granted.
Use them all, together and separated,
appreciate the wondrous miracle of senses.

Ah, what is this vibration in my finger tips?
'Tis, I believe, the distant Abbey Bells I feel.

Vi Jones
©April 6, 2005