in the dazzling unexpected sun, my head becomes suitably lazy and heavy and rests onto the bus window as outside as lazily the town seems to move in patterns of music at the rythm of the bus lullaby of stops and starts. The couples and the friends string along the seine's paved banks or stretch out to the newly born warmth , one by one from one bridge to the other.
In another summer in buenos aires, when the heat was promising endless nights of friends meeting in squares and bars, I remember bumping into the end of the year parents students rehearsal from the town conservatory, when I was looking for a live concert. I stepped out fast, aware of the mistake as soon as I noticed the clusters of dressed up youngsters surrounded by proud families.
Few seconds later I saw up the theatre emptying his audience into the large street. The small figurines slowly crossed the highway
I could not help being tricked into looking at them as notes stringing the patterns of the road , one by one or in small group bringing back the music in the auditorium to the patterns of the city. Playing the city alive.
On and on one by one they all went on the either side small dots playing the notes of the streets , as if wise architects had hidden a secret pentagram in the streets and in those far away building at the end of these reoads so that every human being cannot escape this playing un unknown and unheard music...
Rilke said that one should always be aware of the big music that is animating this world, be ready for your hour of speech in this larger symphony ...
No comments:
Post a Comment