Saturday, April 6, 2019


Nicole Page-Smith


Birds fly in the forest. When you think of angels they fly like music in a concert, ascends. Angels are synonymous with birds in flight for they are spirit. Spirit flies, flies like the wind of emotions and flies. When we are the flight of genius we hit the soaring roof as though in a chorister of a choir. Trees ascend and grow and cathedrals had trees in mind built as though trees were housed. You may find it strange if when contemplating the Lord, a tree would grow out of the floor, grow up through the church seats and start singing with the birds. Birds sing for God and when you are in the forest trees become your cathedral, swaying gently in the breeze. Birds represent flight and we are reminded of the church and religion. Musical structure plays a part and in flight you are of the patterns of stars, annotating. (To sing is to angel your worth.) Instrumental was the sound of the Baroque. Notes rose in ascension like cathedrals and travelled up the beams like the top of treetops with the birds and angels singing, informing God of the incoming King. Courts and court music, an entertainment, entertains. Oh, the planets and their traverse. Choristers, choirs and choral music, sings and, the musical structure, composed. Many moons have passed since Baroque early music. In libraries of worth, there are angels and they are singing, Vivaldi in heavenly, manuscripts. Forests sing with the birds and feathers occasionally flutter down, gracing the forest floor. An indication of angels is the voice.


How strange to grow like trees. Leaves are our friend but oh, the birds, fly. Bees fly to the Bernini fountain in Rome and I fly off with them in Spirit. Flying as if on a beeline to the other side of the city, I am thinking of cathedrals, St. Peter's and Bernini's architecture. Flying as though spirits or bees I fly like a bird inside and around the square and fly off with the pigeons. Flying is my pastime and thinking of angels. God bless the angels by birth. I fly.

Flying is something trees ought not to do.

Running with trees overhead, we fly like the birds but are walking. Walking as though through a forest I find myself in St. Peter's. There is a communion and brides are running, running in white dresses, running. Not Catholic of the church, I wonder and walk on by. Wandering and wondering, I continue towards the river. Churches and churches and thinking of Hellenistic sculpture we continue to more book learned museums. Copies and Roman, Greek legends, you think of what floated up to shore. 

Clouds float on by and you are on the beach. Does it rain?

Raining, you find hidden treasure.

You walk along the beach and are transported. Big container ships are visible in the background. Walking along the beach and only finding the odd tree washed up you are reminded of Daphne.

Watery gods and their knowing, we are thinking of fountains and the Ganges, river god, Rome and its fountains. The odd cat walks on by. Sculpture is something Italy is famous for and the skill of artisans using stone. Marble.