Note to Erin on Beeches and Arvo
Pärt
Remember that day driving at winter's
end,
when flakes of the last snow were
starting to fall,
and we stopped the car before a scruffy
hill
where sapling beeches line the rutted
road?
Those pale-copper, persistent leaves
gather light
and hold it, never falling, stubborn,
as if they render brightness from the
air.
“Für Alina” was our music that
day,
the distinct notes clinging, aching to
be notes,
then lasting, fading slowly, radiant.
Today, hundreds of miles from you, I
walked
among beeches, when hard, stingy
pellets of snow
shushed on the unthawed spring
ground,
and despite the clouds' argument for
darkness,
wind licked gleams from the edges of
beech leaves.
I wondered who Alina was. I thought of
you. That's all.
the music was so absolutely fitting. i wonder if the beeches had been waiting all of time for that particular convergence to reach perfection. or if the music had been waiting for the beeches to become its body. and what of the late snowfall? and the light retained and thrown by the leaves?
ReplyDeleteor perhaps it was only a place in us, inside our longing, which waited for the marriage of sound, texture and light - the becoming of one.
everything was so liminal...
(your last line - the observations and the wondering. and then the touch. the being together. knowing one another and the world through one another. that is all. so perfectly and gently said. what more might there be?)
i would like to live this life. i would like such an experience. such a memory.