Set my anchor
deep, real deep,
my roots they dig
digging, drilling,
to tap what I know I have deep down
to tap what I do not know I have deep down
Acacia

And I tap to the rhythm of love
sway to the melody of hope
whistle the tune of beauty
close my eyes
soak in the beautiful harmony of the orchestra of life

But…

The cellist bows away
I will not bow
The harpist strums away glissando
I choose not to glide through this life
The clarinetist blows
It shows
This life
This life is just an overture

Whispery Wind
01:26, coffee high, and vector calculus, one can’t help but think of life, acacias and overtures.