Splinter

Every once in a while a memory will come crowding in-- unbidden and unwanted. All the more destructive in it's benignity. Seems harmless. Appears innocuous. But it's seeming inoffensiveness is exactly what makes it excruciating. And perhaps equally frustrating is the tip-of-the-pin exploration that is required in order to describe the tapestry with any adequacy.

songs of the soul...

Music is a uniquely cultural expression- music from one region leaving one cold while inflaming the other. Country music is the balm to many while to me it's a step away from fingernails on a blackboard. A few songs from this genre have made it past my tense inner ear but it is generally safe to say that I do not like country music.

For me, great music does not merely express the achy breaky emotions of the beer drinking couch potato. For me, music gives voice to the soul, allows it to soar when it begins to take wing and articulates inexpressible sorrow. Today, I listen to Prokofieff's Piano Concerto no.3, 'Ada plays' from Cold Mountain and 'Hansel and Gretal in Africa' from Nowhere in Africa. The solicitude of the musician's caress gives a gentleness to the breath of the moment. As compelling as the gulf breeze kissing the surface of the ocean...