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Plank! Plank! Plankkk! Plunkkk!

I still remembered how it was, the tension in my shoulders softening into pastel squiggles on holiday.

Again, I heard them, only more distinct. Plonk! Plonkk! Plink! My heart quickened. Down the wide steps, I flew, passing the Linnaeus house, skirting raised flowerbeds and withered grasses—still wintering, then pausing before the bronze sculpture of fish reflected in the pool. I was alone, my breath strewn about by winds with hiccoughs.

 

 

Plankkk! Plunk! Plink! They’re getting closer. Ahead of me, the weathered gazebo invited respite, but not that day. I’d come for the performance, and I was never disappointed.

Ahead of me, the granitoid walk turned the corner and I, with it.

To my right was the granddaddy of wind chimes. I stopped, then focused upon this towering array of handcrafted bronze chimes, each design unique. To reassure me of its presence, I gentled my fingers over a lower chime, hooded and cold, an ivy traced around its circumference, then struck the clapper hung from its chain: Plink! Plink! Vibrations strangely fired my inner core, then left me within soothing colors. Then, relaxed upon the bench, I let the winds compose and play the morning’s offering. The hoped-for communion always happened.

 

 

Thus prepared, I walked the perimeter of the Missouri Botanical Garden and felt its wiggle-room of life impinging my senses. There would be spring.

Frequent excursions into such vistas helped formulate my Creator God, nurturing me from season to season, as well. I’ve been wintering for some time…

 

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