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
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