Viola

     In the distance can be heard the violist, some fingers tap dancing on strings, and some riding a bow in syncopated swift strings. The violist's mind in a realm, un-concentrated, evenly under the spell of the sounds from this wooden voice box. Moving hands in various positions out of curiosity of the produced effect, repeating that pleasant and obscurely odd ones. This is the unconscious playing of the universe, the subtle harmony of strictly tuned four strings. The violist cradling the instrument closer and closer to the center of being, hunching back to enclose the ringing notes, rolling in the buttery smoothness from the bow, continuing the trance. Don't wake me. Leave me to rot in this thrill. (Was that what it was?)

-11/16/09, Austin