The Wordsmiths

Before, there was just sound.


Noise.

Gutteral utterings.

Inside a need

Outside, no form.

 
Then they came

A wandering band of vagabonds

A higgledy piggledy group of artisans

Skilled craftsmen and women all

A cart filled with wondrous tools

Cases packed with abundance

Dragged with joy from settlement to settlement

Infectious energy and smiles

Captivating hearts and faces

 
Their arrival a source of excitement

Their purpose as yet unknown

They stop and unpack their wonders

 
They are the Wordsmiths

 
An ancient band of creators

Capturing the sounds and making real

 
Once established they sit and wait

Slowly people come to forward

Sit, eyes captivated by what they see

Silence speaks volumes

 
A Wordsmith steps forward and points

The ‘tree’ is big with heavy boughs.

He points to one of the children and back

Slowly the child realises and makes the noise

 
The Wordsmiths scream with joy

Repeat the sound until it is fixed and set

Others join in chorus loud

 
With one gesture silence falls again

The Wordsmiths set to work

Tools blur, materials carved, sewn,

Forges lit, bellows strained

 
Effort precedes the emergence of

The word

TREE

Made real

There in front of them

A sound now physical and fixed

TREE

 
From their cart they take a case

Words tumble from it to the floor

Previous language captured

Now shared, passed, owned.

 
As dawn come up an empty space

Dents in the grass where once was

And

TREE

writ large

 
An elder turns to the assembled

“They have gone.”

Nods of understanding

 
Before, there was just sound.

Noise.

Gutteral utterings.

Inside a need to communicate

Outside no form.

 
Then they came

A wandering band of vagabonds

A higgledy piggledy group of artisans

Skilled craftsmen and women all

A cart filled with wondrous tools

Cases packed with abundance

Dragged with joy from settlement to settlement

Infectious energy and smiles


Captivating hearts and faces



Robin Hutchinson

http://spiritofseething.blogspot.co.uk/
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