From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds;
from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom…
It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence
and remembered again.
What? How? Why? This singing she heard
that had nothing to do with her ears.
The rose of the world was breathing out smell.
It followed her through all her waking moments
and caressed her in her sleep.
~Zora Neale Hurston, (1891 – 1960)