Winter Concert Comments

She speaks as if from heaven, for that she is. I love you, her mother, and she speaks as if this she knows. She speaks as Sade would sing, her voice resonating through all of me. I am more than veneer, and this she knows. I am more than hollow, and this she knows. I am just her earthen father, so far below heaven, and she sings as if this she welcomes, and this she knows, as much as such a small life instinctively may ever know.

Perhaps her wisdom is warmth beyond the hearth. Perhaps she knows of the sun, and its pull of earth. Perhaps she knows of everyone. Each of us, far more than a chord box. More than mind, or body, or more than any passing of time.
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