In the holy air

a place exultant

 I spend the evening
in song, with a bunch of women
taking breath,
initiating sound in our larynx,
influencing it with our skulls and throats,
then shaping it into joy.
Some days I don't want to leave
my hearth and couch
or I'm too sad or I'm too distracted,
but I take my resonator downtown anyhow,
I take my air and my sheet music.
These days we sing hallelujah
or triumphant and the director
puts her hands in the air
and laughs. We all laugh
or we close our eyes
and listen to our own voices,
the way they hold themselves
in a chord, in the holy air
between women standing on carpet
and someplace unseen,
a place exultant, a place
we take home with us,
rejoicing.

Singing in a chorus is a wonderful thing, and even more wonderful around Christmas.