Kalimba

 Kalimba.  The name rolls off the tongue like the music it makes, soft, soothing no matter the keys played, no matter the order.  Harmony from chaos, soft music from hard metal keys, it speaks to me of life’s struggle to the ease of acceptance.   

Kalimba.  The instrument stirs my inner child, the tiny girl sitting at grandmother’s piano.  Small fingers stroking each key and listening for the sound of the hammer hitting the wire, straining to get one foot down to the pedal to hear the music change.  Thinking, I did that.

Kalimba.   How luscious to cradle the smooth polished gourd in my hands.  It is a perfect fit.  My thumbs hover above the keys without strain to play effortless music.  The notes wash over me like the soft breath of a lover, sending a shiver down my skin, a whisper in my hair.  The space between the notes continues the song’s caress, echoing what my thumb has done.    And I think I did that.

The sound of the rain splashing the leaves outside my lofty bed is a perfect backdrop to my thumb music.    How lovely the rain is here.   The trees intercept each drop, caressing it tenderly before guiding it on a safe path to the ground.   An acorn hits the roof, bounces once, twice looking for a place to grow.  From my perch I peer out the window and see the cabin roof crosshatched with twigs, acorns and leaves.  Frosting on a cabin cake, the dusky scene enhances this meditative music, the music of dreams.

I sit in my cabin loft remembering days on the farm.  Little children climbing to the hayloft, grabbing the stout rope and swinging dangerously close to the edge before flying back .   Letting go and falling, falling to the hay, thinking how fun even though the hay scratched and itched.  We were children.  What did we know?   Everything.

This little cabin loft makes me happy.   Like a cat with a paper bag, I crawl into it, circling around to make myself small.  Once again I am that tiny girl I left behind so long ago.  I sit in the loft making thumb music.

6 Comments

  1. Comment by Susan Kozem

    Posted on October 1, 2009 at 2:17 pm

    I love you childhood stories. Where is your cabin loft?

  2. Comment by Susan Kozem

    Posted on October 1, 2009 at 2:17 pm

    I love you childhood stories. Where is your cabin loft?

  3. Comment by Kyane

    Posted on October 3, 2009 at 6:42 pm

    I love how you answer “what did we know?”
    with
    “everything”.

    the letting go and falling could be woven even more, is there anything in the kalimba that is “letting go and falling”

    “frosting on a cabin cake”….so fun

    “trees intercept each drop, caressing it tenderly…”
    is stunning

    I’m glad you are now officially a kalimba mama and just think you did that!!!
    (your description of playing kalimba are lovely)

  4. Comment by Kyane

    Posted on October 3, 2009 at 6:42 pm

    I love how you answer “what did we know?”
    with
    “everything”.

    the letting go and falling could be woven even more, is there anything in the kalimba that is “letting go and falling”

    “frosting on a cabin cake”….so fun

    “trees intercept each drop, caressing it tenderly…”
    is stunning

    I’m glad you are now officially a kalimba mama and just think you did that!!!
    (your description of playing kalimba are lovely)

  5. Comment by Anonymous

    Posted on October 4, 2009 at 2:06 pm

    thank you Kyane…here’s to many more shared breakfasts 🙂

  6. Comment by Anonymous

    Posted on October 4, 2009 at 2:06 pm

    thank you Kyane…here’s to many more shared breakfasts 🙂

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.