If music be the food of, let’s say life —

What, though, about the wind or birds singing?

At heart, I prefer the center, the breath.

Prescription, there of, PLAY; pick up your fife.

The wind’s “ringing”, sustenance bringing.

When birds are soaring it’s my shibboleth.

Wind’s capricious, though, can cut like a knife.

At dawn, various birds are twittering.

The Phoenix (firebird) escapes from death.

Could meditation spur me to lose weight?