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 . . . .
Hope. We all have it.
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Hope gives us the capacity to find a methodology or strategy for making it
to a point where we want to end up. Having hopes and dreams gives us an
optimist...
3 years ago
4 comments:
Beautiful!
That must be what heaven sounds like.
I agree with Lothian. I think you described my idea of heaven too.
Excellent word painting!
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