When Sound Becomes Color
by Lark Dupins
The first note blooms
deep violet spreading across the air
like dusk touching the tops of mountains.
A bass line rolls beneath the floorboards,
low thunder wandering through the earth,
vibrations rooting themselves
in the bones of everyone listening.
Drums arrive like rain
silver droplets striking the surface of silence,
rippling outward in widening circles.
A trumpet bursts open in gold,
sunlight spilling across a river
so bright it makes the water sing.
Voices rise like wind through tall grass,
bending the green fields of the heart
until something inside us sways.
Someone closes their eyes
suddenly the room is not a room anymore.
It is a forest of rhythm,
a storm of color,
a sky full of sound.
Blue chords drift like evening tides,
soft and endless.
Red notes burn through the air
like wildfire racing across dry hills.
And somewhere between the heartbeat of the
drums
and the trembling strings of a guitar,
people begin to feel things
they did not know were waiting inside them.
Music does this
turns breath into color,
turns silence into oceans,
turns ordinary moments
into something vast and alive.
For a few minutes
we are no longer bodies in a room
we are waves,
we are wind,
we are light
moving through sound.
