The Silver Trumpet Brayed

Scents, songs and casual references all conspire to show me that we have lost so much. And what moments shine brighter than the rest? My father banging on the arms of chairs in time to the music on the wireless, yes, that, but more than that, those evenings at the family shop, the entire family around the piano singing.

Only twice in my life has that experience been repeated, once in college when, quite spontaneously we sang carols, and once again at the home of my then boss, when, after a meal, we sang.

That quartet of my students did it too, outside the town hall waiting to play, they sang, then again the other week when a new quartet, a generation apart, sang again.

Singing is more personal than playing and, when it happens like that, creates moments that can never be forgotten.

posted by Weasel @ 9:49 PM 0 comments