At the cabin in the clearing among woods

at the end of a rough dirt road winding up a hillside

in the late afternoon mix of golden sun

and shadow and stillness

as I was early and my teacher not yet arrived

for my lesson I stood for a moment

looking at the surrounding trees

birches beeches and pines standing to hold the light

and guarding the depth of the shadowy woods behind

all held within a point in time stretched out into

the taut emptiness of my own waiting attention

and so I took out my flute and began playing

long undulating sweeps of notes

that arose from nothing but that rang against the trees

all around and reflected back to me mixed

with the light and shade and time

and in which I was but an outline in the air