Had the privilege of seeing Olympian Paul Wylie about an hour before a performance. He was alone, deep in concentration, and not nearly as happy as he appeared on the ice a few minutes later. That got me thinking …

I
Shrouded in secrecy — alone,
Atop the hall.
All a-hush;
A time to withdraw.

Cloaked in darkness — watching,
The crowd filter.
A murmured hush;
A time to envision.

Draped in silence — list’ning,
For the cue.
A hushed voice;
A time for greatness.

II
Bathed in light — holding,
A dancer’s pose.
A pipe’s tone;
A time for poetry.

Steeped in motion — churning,
In-the-round.
A cello’s song;
A time for grace.

Doused in speed — slashing,
The snowy stage.
A trumpet’s blare;
A time for flight.

III
Soaked in sweat — awaiting,
The critic’s hand.
All a-rush;
A time for judgment.

Show’red in praise — basking,
Midst the crowd.
A rush of flowers;
A time for joy.

Wrapped in ice — hidden,
Behind the curtain.
A rush of pain;
A time for reflection.