Crescendo

Forte, piano, arco, pizzicato, diminuendo, poco a poco crescendo, mezzo forte, mezzo piano, pianissimo, fortissimo, con sordino, life’s musical terms in a world that doesn’t understand classical music. It had been the popular music at one point, now considered music of the elite, a bad term. It had once meant someone who had worked hard to gain a skill, it now meant people who didn’t care about other people.

She sighed sitting in the darkened house listening to the sounds outside. Her dog perked up moving her ears. “What do you hear?” Silence. She knew the dog heard something that she could not hear. “It’s okay, girl” and the human petted the dog who still perked her ears. A crescendo of sound come to the human’s ears and the dog howled. The siren blared and the human thought it was an ambulance. They lived near the hospital and often ambulances passed near to the house. She hoped who ever was in the ambulance would be okay.

The human returned to her music. A blank page on a screen stared at her. She had wanted to write tonight, she had had an idea while driving during the day from student to student, and had written it down, but now it was just an idea, and didn’t reveal the rest of itself to her. The siren died down, the dog laid back down, and the human looked at the page.

She had loved music as a kid, the orchestra practices, the community of people, the teachers who always had time for the students. Life was not like that now. As an adult community didn’t seem to exist, and hanging with friends didn’t happen. Everyone was busy with their own lives and she did not quite belong anywhere. She had always wanted to be a composer, that had been her dream, and it had come true save one thing, she couldn’t make a living as a composer.

She played, but the money crop was in teaching. She was quite good at teaching and loved it, loved all her students from the very young to the much older, but it drained her and took time. She now understood what Mozart had meant when he told his father he needed time to write. But she knew she was no Mozart.

She looked back at the blank page on the screen, so many lines with not one dot. She looked at her notes from earlier that day, and then it came, inspiration, and off she went into another world not to emerge for some time. The dog lay there close to her master, dreaming of open fields, and game to catch. The evening drifted on like this, ending with a poco a poco diminuendo, slowly becoming quieter and quieter.

 

Copyright ©2017 Moira Levant and Random Thoughts. All Rights Reserved.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s