Prairie of the Fireflies (Music From Heaven)


I can still see myself at the riverside, somehow.

If I try hard enough, I can also sense the wind coming. And then I will feel how I felt many, many nights ago—back to the yesteryears on the prairie of the fireflies.

But first, before I forget things again, I have to ask you something: do you know what reed maces are? They grow tall near the riverside, with their stick-like bodies and long oval heads standing amidst crowds of leaves. To untrained eyes, they can indeed look like ordinary plants; well, actually, they are nature’s musicians and wind is their favourite conductor. Whenever the timing is right, whenever the wind desires, all there is to be done is to have the wind whisper at their ears and music will be there. Tender, sweet, rushing bodies of invisible forces gushing straight to your heart.

The fireflies will then be awakened. One by one, a glow at a time. Some will lazily hover low over the river, creating a stream of light as if they are trying to compete with the great Milky Way above. Some will shyly—and slowly—start to glow from within the violets they use as hideouts, making a very beautiful field of dimly gleaming flowers. Some will simply ride on the wind, gliding their way around, following the slow melody of music.

At such night, the sky seems to lower down, and the prairie of the fireflies is its touching point with the earth. Those who are fortunate enough to be present at one of those nights will claim that the stars have come out from their places and descended down to dance on the prairie.

It is a well-known story.

It is a story where I was once a part of—the night of angels on the prairie of the fireflies, a long-forgotten edge of heaven.

Prairie of the Fireflies

Music from heaven,
how I long to hear it, just one more time

Music from heaven,
the peace that’s far away, unknown

Faint calls from where I belong
They swirl in my thoughts
with the dream of being home
in my lonely, quiet world

Distant calls for weary souls,
sweet echoing through the night
Rushing through the silent trees,
the angels’ midnight song

Serenade beyond the sky
Harmony of thousands angels
Without a word,
to my soul,
it says,  “Come back home.”

***

Thank you Ryan Hadiutomo  for the trust in my writings.
For composing such beautiful melodies back in the good old days,
and for re-arranging it into a marvelous piece.
Loved it then, and loving it even more now:
Music From Heaven

******

Image taken from http://www.escapeintolife.com

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