Impromptu |
| 2007 |
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A bright light burst in my face as a new image swallowed me. No longer at home, I pranced about in the fields. A diminutive buzz hovered around my ear, and the sound became clearer every step I took. Deeper into the field I paraded, and soon a minute speck joined me. Black and yellow stripes were visible behind two strong transparent wings. A tiny stinger was also present, but as the intentions were for the better, it didn’t bother me. We skipped and flew in harmony through the many flowers, passing scarlet pimpernels, daffodils, lone roses, and bunches of daisies. Suddenly, my companion disappeared. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see it return. There was only a soft hum left in my ear. Moments later, the reverberation was gone.
I rested my hands on my lap and stared at the paper before me. My hand made a swift movement and flipped pages from the right to the left. Skimming trough the composition again, I let each leaf of paper fall from my grip and into place. I stood and slid out from between a dark black bench and a matching instrument. My fingers slowly lowered the heavy marble-like lid and picked up the small booklet that laid on the carefully propped up stand. I circumambulated to a small shelf stuffed with books, folders, and papers. As I squatted to place the sheets of music on a pile of concertos and sonatas, I thought about the bee. It could calm me at my most dangerous moments, soothe me when tears were pouring out of my eyes, and excite me when my boredom had reached its limit. I stood to walk away, but I turned to face the composition and read the title once again as I flicked the light switch off. Rotating to face a different room, I repeated the song’s title; The Flight of the Bumblebee. |
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