The conductor walked out,
bowed, raised his baton
and they were off!
Beethoven first.
The music swirled around me.
Now a swelling sea, now a
train engine chugging,
a roller coaster, a carousel.
Here and there a fluted crystal chirp.
I was in the music
and it was in me.

As I surfaced, I noticed things
about the music-makers.
This one’s peek-a-boo hair,
that one’s pointy shoes,
the cut of a blouse,
little things that went along
for the ride, and not-so-little things
like the first violin’s long hair
swinging back and forth
in a violence of love.

In the middle of the last piece,
when Rimsky-Korsakov’s
Scheherazade was in full bloom
and the first violin played
that achingly beautiful part
all by her beautiful self,
I felt an unexpected tear slide down my cheek.



About boomergirl47

Retired from the University of South Florida. Love reading, writing, hiking, nature, music, birding, puttering around the house and yard.
This entry was posted in beauty, emotions, human interest, love, music, poetry, psychology, relationships, romance, spirituality, Uncategorized, women. Bookmark the permalink.

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