After "The Violinist" by Bozena Happach, [bronze 2004]

And with this final chord she froze in utter stillness;
cast from hot, flowing bronze, chiseled in solid ice.
I held my breath––my heart and soul she’s won…
For though her bow stopped moving...
...her violin played on.

A hesitant vibrato, stronger, tempting, commanding,
then tiny, sweet tremolo––arpeggios scaling octaves...
While she stood rapt, music still told its story,
From violin still flowed lakes, forests…
...fields in all their glory...

It was Sebelius’ Violin Concerto. Notes––blades of grass,
fields of golden wheat––heads swaying in unison...
Prodigious throw of Nature’s secret dice,
sweetest mysteries, enchantment...
...gates of paradise…