Fraser Dron lives in New Zealand and works diverse jobs while attempting to establish himself as a songwriter and musician. He likes thinking about travel, loneliness, music, family, and metaphysics, and he is sometimes able to catch these thoughts, subdue them and harness them to words.
When plates shift, we all must dance to their slow music.
The holy high places are laid low - but - oh, music!
I'm calling out, a small thing among these hills:
are you close enough, if you hear, to know music?
Where I grew up, the mountains had imported names.
They knew their older names in winter-snow-music.
You would be salt for the roads, warmth for the journey;
would I be pilgrim enough, though, Music?
I'll chip away at the rock face, blow by blow
and find - in me - a safe place to stow music.
I have ears, limbs, two good lungs. I have the words!
But Fraser, you risk an avalanche! You must forgo music.