Sunday, June 19, 2016

Chopin


A stream is sparkling. The notes are swirling. Eddies, cascades, runs, sprays; coloured pebbles flickering beneath; sunlight glinting off the surfaces: aqueous diamond, facets fluid.

That magnificent play of light into the eyes, tickling senses into pleasure even exultation, as near to breaking into a sprint as the spirit ever will.

The notes spill down the aural canals, trickle through the auditory nerves; speckled light, now fast now  slow; now curved, smooth as treacle; now splintering sparks from a bonfire.


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