A bass line walks you into a lush green forest. You are aware of the sound of a nearby stream and the song of a mysterious bird. Violin plucks and electronica blips are the drip, drip of water on leaf and stone, You inhale the breath of the deep woods. A minimoog sends out a mycelium network of sound, a deep forest drone connecting all musical instruments and forest entities at the root. You are walking further in, along a path. A staccato surf guitar sends an extra spring in your step. These clouds overhead come from the ocean— they bring the rains. Another moog spirals upward in mysterious motion— your spirits rising. Now the clouds part in a burst of radiant sun— you shield your eyes as violin, flute, and Farfisa announce the chorus. All around you the forest jewels in bright emerald green, every water drop the echo of a star.

The sun disappears and you catch a glimpse of a distant waterfall.

The forest still glows in subtle greens— fern, moss, lichen. Your heart lurches as you arrive at a steep drop-off to the stream below. It’s a momentary vertigo, but indeed, your mind is now gently leaving your body as you become part of the dream of the woods. You see burnt trees and bare rock cleaved away—a land routinely visited by fire, flood, ice, and volcano. And up ahead, in a growing roar— a giant waterfall, tumbling— in a comforting kind of thunder.

And there, at the base of the falls, bobbing in and out of the water—and singing— the waterfall bird. The ouzel.

Of course the bird knows sadness. How could it not? Of course the bird knows fear. But the bird seems to say “Only beauty! Only wonder in what IS.” Is this wonder a positive form of rebellion?

The song the ouzel sings is that Spark of Wonder— you are now invited. A world within the world. Shining through and into you with viriditas, the greening power.