The percussion section solo, late fall opens with rain building to sleet on roofs and cars and pavement, grains of rice on a taut snare drum.
Booming bass of waves pounding the shore, the tinkling and mummering as the beach stones rearrange themselves on each wave's retreat.
Wind rages and howls, a huge hand shaking a distant sheet of metal, building to a violent crecendo barely under the conductor's control.
True artistry revealed in the small melodic details layered into the whole, cries of birds, boats roaring in the channel, clangs of industry.
All underlaid with the ever-present pulsating hum as hydrocarbons are converted to power, the beating heart of the island.
The storm subsides and the drums and cymbals and noisemakers all drop out and just the pulse remains, thump-thump, thump-thump . . . .
THE FINAL BLOG - OK OK, I can take a hint. I always thought it would be my decision at some point to stop the blog. It turns out was somebody else’s choice. If I cannot pos...
2 weeks ago