Summertime Concert by Steve Fortney

 
 

The first notes of spring, white snowdrops;

And then flowers the redbud tree

In contrast, to sound the themes to come.

Rhubarb, in Tibet, thought to be small

Red-bodied wrinkled Adams, play with

Rembrandt embouchure, the first tulips.

 

 

The hall is columned with black locust,

Wild cherry, autumn blaze, witch hazel,

Muscle-wood, oak, Norway spruce; the colors

Echo sweetly off those wooden pillars, their

Leafy vault; annuals play like string sections

Constant but anonymous from spring to frost.

 

 

One follows another: large bows of hosta strike,

Cello notes. With wind-time nods the bass

Peony; and piccolo alyssum, tiny among rocks,

Drowned by the trumpets of turk’s cap lilies,

The middle movement; followed by the third:

Where chrysanthemum and asters bloom.

 

 

We are its concert masters, we orchestrate this,

Where colors and scents and themes flower,

Each blossom is first chair; with cadenzas of peppers

And tomatoes that feed us–music, the food of love!

Ripening, first, to middle movement: then the finale!

As the Conductor batons the last downbeat of fall.

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