2004-07-15

Glittering pebbles lead the way to beginnings and endings

Summer scenes of dry concrete and dried grass with a Bach cantata in the background conjure up memories of things now past. Those penetrating blue skies and goose-feathered clouds blanketing this picture, and the dusky sun illuminates the sidewalk--pebbles glittering and leading the way.

I am nowhere in particular on this gold-painted afternoon. The world is gilded. My heart beats rhythmically through a languid fog of peace. A crimson tide of distant whispers approach with tremendous velocity, and these two eyes close to try and experience again each moment to which those words belong--I am there once more.

Two angels with wings of doves dance on clouds, captured in one moment; the intensity of one kiss holds them hostage. Every beginning has its own particular piano piece played continuously. Sometimes Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven, and others it would be Chopin�s �Raindrop� prelude. If I were to describe beginnings, I would begin with the word �uncertainty�. Sometimes in the late afternoons, I begin to listen to a new piano piece, a sonata. Slowly, the tunes dance about softly in the air, my heart beats with anticipation at some climax in the middle of the piece, the way Chopin starts out embracing your ears gently only to change his miniature spring day into a Hell-tempest. Yet, beginnings are filled not only with spring melodies dancing about in our heads. They are filled with different stories and dirt roads that appear like a storybook every time you close your eyes. They are the water lilies painted by Monet, they are the illuminated glass worlds captured by Renoire, they are Degas� ballerina that glows in a stage of darkness with each graceful step that she takes. The joy of beginnings are ephemeral, and long after they are gone, one covets them dearly.

Endings feel like the brown antique pages out of some thumbed through storybook. They are the end of summer. Endings are those deception-filled denouement moments when one closes a book or finishes watching a movie. Endings allow us to see our mistakes, and they haunt us, and they torture and scold us as if we were small children. Endings are the slowing down of a pianist�s fingers as he is finishing up his piece, and it is the blissful fading of my favourite Chopin nocturne.

And as I continue to walk and step over those glittering pebbles brought to life by the heavens� natural light, I still wonder why I cannot learn to end one chapter or close one book.

aeka at 9:39 a.m.