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.
