Notes float up and through and wrap around.
Some days it is raspy jazz, pushing me out to where my dreams live. Other days its
loud and deeply bass, reaching a distant place in me where my sounds have their
origin. Sounds and jingles push me, move me and even threaten to destroy me. I
am surrounded, wrapped, cloaked, and caressed by it all. The swaying tones of "What
a Wonderful World" slip through the back of my brain. New songs thrill me
like a view taken in for the very first time. The music of Bocelli makes my
eyes close tight and my skin tingle. Defying gravity, the melodies lift my
heart from the everyday to the heights of once in a life time. Taking me away
and grounding me all at the same time. I am filled with hope, brought up,
brought low.
There is no music to tell of recent days. Deep sorrow that will not shake, sits like ugly darkness. Weighing on and pushing out the light sounds and replacing it with songs in minor keys. Not ready or willing to begin to say goodbye to one who has been there all along. Death creeps in so close its breath is fowl. The music in the air grows faint, death is drowning it out. Quiet reigns.
But then it begins with a small gracious ring, dug into the past, to moments, to pleasure, to certain beauty. The music begins to heal and show death to be a part of the score. The dark notes and minor keys make the song sound sweeter. Each note becoming the song that is my own journey and the journey, the song. The melodies bubble and push me up above the deep water to break the surface and breathe anew. This is music, this is hope, this is my cover. It marks each moment of a little girl growing along. Laughing now with her daughters, holding on to the arms that love her, dancing to the 'The Stars Are Ours' as it spills out of the player. I am home and safe and in music's arms again. Music, she is my cover, she is all my hours and days played out with all that stings my soul and all I love dearly packed between notes. I will give over to it and it will fade and forte as love grows older and life writes the next chorus .
There is no music to tell of recent days. Deep sorrow that will not shake, sits like ugly darkness. Weighing on and pushing out the light sounds and replacing it with songs in minor keys. Not ready or willing to begin to say goodbye to one who has been there all along. Death creeps in so close its breath is fowl. The music in the air grows faint, death is drowning it out. Quiet reigns.
But then it begins with a small gracious ring, dug into the past, to moments, to pleasure, to certain beauty. The music begins to heal and show death to be a part of the score. The dark notes and minor keys make the song sound sweeter. Each note becoming the song that is my own journey and the journey, the song. The melodies bubble and push me up above the deep water to break the surface and breathe anew. This is music, this is hope, this is my cover. It marks each moment of a little girl growing along. Laughing now with her daughters, holding on to the arms that love her, dancing to the 'The Stars Are Ours' as it spills out of the player. I am home and safe and in music's arms again. Music, she is my cover, she is all my hours and days played out with all that stings my soul and all I love dearly packed between notes. I will give over to it and it will fade and forte as love grows older and life writes the next chorus .
Pippers
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