The Silver Trumpet Brayed

And so we sang. It was not planned, spontaneous as had been that last time we sang, what, twenty years ago? "We want to sing", they said, and taking the parts we had just played, we sang and thus the line was drawn linking us with them and casting into relief that line between us, that line that started so long ago and which, it would seem, goes on.

A deep sadness this evening, an emptiness and a recognition that there is more than one line being drawn, and that not all the lines are welcome.

posted by Weasel @ 11:20 PM