A Hike Through BluePark Through thickets of soul and hills of rhythm, The Notes do travel. Along ragged paths of Rag, Around swerving paths of Swing. They fall like leaves, swirling around in intricate, beautiful eddies. They brush through fields of motionless brass. The Notes ascend the shrill promontory, each screaming at the top of their lungs. They roll down smoothly, soothingly. All the while, their companion The Beat keeps them in check. Ensuring that none of them ascend too high a hill or slide down too deep a gorge. I sit there, my ears gazing at the enchanting scene playing before them. They gaze until the last Note returns home.
