This is my street : no-exit, quiet when I return from work at 9 p.m. It’s a soggy summer evening and as the air convolutes lazily around me, I hear it: the violin.
The player lacks talent and probably takes music classes only in school. So the ninth really screeches in his interpretation. Now I feel soggy inside.
Once upon a soggy summer evening I have been the child scratching the chords of the violin. I took classes for the whole length of the school year and during my summer vacation I fantasized over playing Mozart. And as the sounds convoluted in the air, my neighbors were slowly returning from work.
4 comments:
The music, the air and the words all move together in a gentle swirl, punctuated by that screech in the middle. In the writing there doesn't seem to be a distinction between the music and the air, just as in reality there is no distinction between music and air.
...and since time is not linear, maybe there is no distinction between one child playing violin on a quiet street at the time when the adults return home from work...
Yes, it could be any child...or all children. What strikes me about this piece is the beauty of the scene. Even with the screech in the air, it is beautiful. Perhaps it is even more beautiful because of the screech.
I love how you connect your memory with the child. Lovely work!
Thank you ,Julie. I am wordless now...
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