My best friend is sitting in a golden eucalyptus tree and playing a didgeridoo that is nearly as long as the tree. Mild warm Santa Ana breezes cause the wispy branches with long slender leaves to sway around her body, gently stroke her skin, and toss her hair. Helena looks fabulous up there. Her soul is free and inspired.
As I listen more carefully to her breathing and blowing, I can make out words coming through the didge. When I shout up and tell her that I understand that her music is actually a language, she says it is not her, it is the tree moaning and the wind toning.
I listen very carefully but am not able to completely understand the language of the elements.