Time, and Time No More

The music is so beautiful, I turn instinctively to see your reaction.

You aren’t there. You haven’t been there now for some time.

The human heart rejects death as any sort of reality. It also accepts death as the ultimate earthly reality.

What the heart knows, music knows as well.

In its ultimate purity, love is in the interplay of souls, in the music that interplay makes.

In music that often lingers when the players have left the stage.

I think about this bit, from a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson:

Low as the singer lies
  In the field of heather,
Songs of his fashion bring
  The swains together.
And when the west is red
  With the sunset embers,
The lover lingers and sings
  And the maid remembers.

Yes, and so does the man.

So do we all.

Author: Sibelius Russell

Sibelius Russell (a/k/a/ Owen "Beleaguered" Servant) lives a life of whimsical servitude -- whatever that means.

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