Words: slope, rocks, flowers, snow, peak__
It was another beautiful Sunday morning. The Wallowa Mountain's high peak, frozen and pointed skyward, rested on rocky slopes blanketed in snow and bushy with trees at its bed. A picture perfect postcard.
The Oregon Jazz Festival was held on such a crisp, cool morning. The music filled the air with an easy, swinging groove that delighted the gathered crowd. The spectators sat on damp grass, blankets, or folding chairs. Others stood; and wiggled their hips while they clapped softly to the tempo of the music. The crowd grew larger as the sun reached its zenith. Many of the woman wore flowers in their hair and flip flops. Men, mostly in blue jeans and caps; beer bottles in hand, cried out a cheer or two at the bands on stage, remaining near their clan, their families.
After the final song was performed and the announcer closed the show with a thankful prattle, every concert goer stopped their movement and heard a spectacular orchestration of bird song. The birds themselves held their our private concert right in amongst the garden trees. Everyone looked at each other in awe before giving the birds a loud ovation.
The bird music lingered long after the last attendant left the scene. The tweets continued as the moon reached its place among the stars.
No comments:
Post a Comment