2005-05-21
Threads
Sometimes I wish I were Daisy from The Great Gatsby, and sleep, only to rest up to entertain guests and myself.
But even that isn't possible anymore--I tire, regardless. Today was my graduation, and I believe I woke up much too early.
I was stifled underneath all the chords and tassels. I was in the front row because I graduated with honors, and in the end, we were able to see all of our teachers, decked in their own caps and gowns from graduate school, and I hugged and said goodbye to almost every one of them.
Brienne had her graduation party today and I attended, and she played Chopin for me. Tonight, I will be attending Pierce's graduation party. It feels empty already with everyone else moving on with their lives and beginning anew in different places. It's a wonderful opportunity, beginning anew and starting fresh.
I told Brienne that Chopin's etude that she played was a "summer piece", and she agreed. There are those who don't like the romantics. Obviously, those are the barbarians who possess no knowledge of music. To overlook the triumphs and beauty and talent of Chopin is just as bad as being blind.
I can sit down, face to face, with ten people and explain that piece. The most disappointing feeling in the world comes in seeing that not everyone understands the depth and poetic quality of Chopin and his etude.
I sit here, and I can contemplate many things...and I can stare out into the glimmers and shadows of the afternoon sun, and I can wonder where life will go from here. Nostalgically, I looked back at the shady, cool path that I used to bicycle and walk and drive through from school. These places stay static while we grow...they witness our change, and each leaf has kept secrets.
The brook dances below the small bridge. I remember ducks playing there.
I recall the sound of Liszt hummed by the breeze, and my face ages every year, but it is astounding that such a small piece of fairy tale remains the same.
I am reminded of Shakespeare and the ages of man, and I used to be the school-child, creeping like snail, unwillingly to school.... Velma believes that when we are born, we are our own owners...and we are all of ourselves. As time passes, our different pieces break away and we imbibe what surrounds us, and we become children of our worlds.
If such is true, then each place contains a thread of myself. And it's not enough form the entire whole, but it's probably enough, so that in taking it, it'll provide a glimpse.
The sunflower tree is outside my room, peering through my window. In the late afternoon it melts with summer's dust and sun. I'm really going to miss this place.