uTopianTurtleTop

III.1.
spinning blue streamers a cacophony of color of delight -- surprise! how the stresses and worries and cares of the day wash off in the fizz of showering streams of sound color

oh! if it could happen on these grayest of days then who knows the possibilities, who indeed, who in word and deed -- aha! -- the expectation delayed arrives anyhow


2.
the mess and squalor, yes yes off you go to play, go on, I’ll get to these, attend to these -- papers piled everywhere, clothes to put away, meals to cook for tomorrow, shopping to do --

an object picked up, looked at, turned this way and that, the light bounces off angles unexpectedly, a glint blinds the eye, and I’m nervous about possible interruptions

listening to music, the object turns me and looks at me, I can’t set it down, it sets me down when I’m done, and this sonic object sets me lovely


3.
I always think I’ll want to sit one out but the dance is lively and heck YEAH heavens YES I want to get up on that floor and shake a leg

oh it feels good humming along, not with the music, not humming the music, humming the bits of word-clumpage that comes tumbling spitting out of the tumbling hacking wordhoard -- did I intend to hoard them? No. Did I intend to be so miserly? No. -- things, life crept up on me and hardened my habits when I wasn’t noticing


4.
ah, the so -- life -- rows, we row, we so row o’er our sorrows, sow rue when we fail in our attentions, fail in our love

what is it in life that demands us to reach beyond grasping, aspire beyond attaining? and life is limited -- we all reach our deadlines and once we cross them can’t come back

is there consolation? the music says -- yes.
the music says -- I am. I am consolation.


5.
another dance.
I think I will sit this one out.
stare at the wall.
no, no -- thanks, I’m OK, think I’ll step outside.
Yes, the band is a charmer, I’m just, I -- need a breath of the outdoors

the music wafts through the walls. another starless cloud-covered night, the houses their uncanny smaller secret selves outside of sun’s glare, everybody in who can manage it, and those who can’t -- those who can’t -- those --


6.
last dance.
better go back.
I take my steps, mind elsewhere, Bach’s mind dancing around and through mine, so real and close and utterly out of reach, even if I had the skills to play the score, the mind that created it remains beyond, a mystery, as any gift of art must be, and all we can say is -- Thanks.