The Box

It sits near the kitchen here, at my dad's house.

It has leaned against the wall since February, when I moved in here.

Before that, the box sat in my townhouse, in the closet.

The box.

Inside of it.

Lies a musical instrument.

A finely crafted set of huge and incredible wind chimes.

It was costly.

It is precious.

Each day I look at it.

Waiting to sing.

It wants to be free.

Like me.

It wants to sing in the wind.

It wants to be out among nature. Singing a song that the birds love.

Along with one human being, who aches to hear it's symphony.

I pray with them every day.

To be free.

To sing out.

At the cabin.

At the lake.

With the birds in attendance.

With the trees, the water and the wind, which gives it life and a voice.

As it does for me.

I live for that day.