August 31, 2019
As I sit here in my cubby with my sweet little beagle snoozing softy, playing Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto, I ponder about this month of sorrow. The music, is a stirring symphony of joyous celebration of a life that lived well and gave so much to our human history. How little most of us give to our human story. Alas, not having the gift of genius for an art form, we struggle onward to make what we can however little it may be.
It has been 5 years since he has passed. The days go bye and give me no solace to sooth the ache of missing of his presence. The quiet companionship of his self was the binding thread throughout our marriage. The soft sounds of my little fur friend helps, but in his blindness, he is a constant source of sadness for his loss.
I cannot feel the same source of inspiration for just about anything in this stage of existence...I feel that I'm on a merry go round with the false bells of music of my youth giving the sounds of tomorrow when I know that tomorrow is so little in time. What does it matter now? This feeling of tears on the verge of hopelessness....
The days of autumn creep ever closer, with the falling of leaves, the wilting of the rose, and the sun lowering in the sky blue now, but, the clouds of winter will come towards me with the falling of raindrops melding with my tears...I'm becoming winter.