A lot of work goes into creating these music boxes, including this little work I finished on the November 10th. I have a start date for the cover music of October 9th.

Summary of Flight from the City:

I am calling this a minor work, for its length is under six feet. That category became obvious when, after getting up off my computer chair, I had to look around for the artwork, finding it upright in its stands. The work itself is under 24 inches in height, so for a moment, I guess I truly overlooked it.

I like my cover arrangement. I removed all the reverb from the piano and increase it on all the special effects, which was the improvement I needed to make to call this music good-to-go. My music arrangements have little to do with creating the perfect cover. The end quality of my arrangement is limited to getting the most delightful sound for the hours spent in its development. When I reach, “that sounds good enough,” through my desktop Bose speakers, that is when I stop making big changes. I then install the music on the artwork’s stereo system. I listen and decide what needs to be updated. The music is then returned it to my desktop software. Once adjusted, it is reinstalled, tested, and if needed, again uninstalled to be finely tuned again, and again, until the Music Box sounds reaches as good as it can get, for now.

.

Here is my summary YouTube Video of Flight From the City:

___________________________

The Tribute poem to my Brother is now completed.

____________________________

Roger’s poem

The sun in winter
is all too short.
Who knew as you move through our lives,
that yours would follow the winter sun.

Winter arrests time
for thought and reflection
that February afternoon.
Dressed for warmth
we venture out,
Into the soft light,
surrounded by stillness,
not an oak leaf stirring. 

The cold of that yesterday
 is heard in the crackling crunch
 of fresh fallen snow, 
 as I straddled previous steps
 along a well-worn path,
 deep into the woods.

Although I think
we are alone,
Zelda knows better,
her actions are telling. 
Life and the deer are about. 
Stopping with her tail up,
head sharply flipping, 
to-and-fro sensing something_, 
curious,
I also pause,
feeling a stirring in the air.
With her nose to the snow, 
Zelda looks to turn off the known path, 
to explore another trail, 
far less traveled. 
Her interest, I cannot foresee,
or know where it leads. 

Before I can call her back
to the safe way forward,
Winter freezes my momentum,
with a stinging breeze
across my cheeks,
breaking the silence,
awakening concerns.
Had I dressed warm enough?
I feel and pat
my coat,
all was there.
Then it came to me,
that it was not the cold,
but the wind, returning to me
moments once set
quietly away.
I wondered why on a
cold Winter’s Day
on this made-up path,
at this crossroad
in these common woods, 
this walk halted,
by an unforeseen breeze
sending a shiver
tumbling inside, 
then out into the light.
Why over all my many memories,
did I find this one exposed
from beneath Winter’s blanket_,
a consciousness,
an awareness,
that once_, 
was you? 

But time was fleeting.
I had let pass 
the diminishing forest light
and our late start.
Fearing the coming darkness
will hide this path,
I call Zelda back
to the safe way home. 
For Home is where we want to be. 
What choice have I,
but to be on our way. 
We had to turn back,
for time does not. 
I could only turn away. 

Those moments have passed
this another Winter’s Day,
although the cold
is harder to ignore,
our routine beckons. 
Although she cares less,
I dressed Zelda in a purple coat
and I in my heaviest hooded jacket,
thankful that each new walk
the sun grows nearer,
and longer,
and the return less concerning.  

Along the way
Zelda repeats her many stops,
on our well-walked path. 
And for a distance
all seems as it should,
until the quiet is interrupted
by a strong gust
pressing against my coat,
pausing our step. 
I feel this air’s warmth, 
as I look to see Zelda stopped ahead, 
her ears pushed back 
by the wind, standing at that 
barely a crossroad 
from yesterday. 
Her brown nose twitching 
in this comforting air. 
Although surprised 
to see her at this divide, 
I have a smile of déjà vu, 
brought-to-mind 
by a long-ago line, 
from a well-used book of poetry 
now gathering dust, 
from the poet Robert Frost__, 
“Two roads diverged in a wood…” 
Two roads, 
diverged, 
in a wood. 
However, 
that is all I recalled. 
With a sigh and interest 
I pursue 
this other trail upwards, 
to see it following 
the rush of rolling clouds, 
knowing soon these winter paths 
will turn to mud, 
preventing our return, 
until the frozen has left. 
Thus beginning the awakening, 
ending Winter’s parsing of time, 
with days merging all too quickly. 
We will lose ourselves 
to work to be done, 
and unforeseen tasks, 
demands and bills to pay, 
that surely will come. 

Though today 
Winter still decides, 
in the fast blanketing 
approach of low clouds 
bursting with snow 
and ice pellets, 
pirouetting down to us, 
if in an effort 
to hide our way, 
on this favored path. 

But wait! 
Where is Zelda? 
I see her brown eyes turned away 
as she slow trots 
along the untrampled path. 
Concerned I call her back 
when from behind 
I am shoved stepping forward, 
by a distant hum  
that becomes a gusting woosh, 
shaking the treetops, 
that then fads slowly 
to a murmuring sound, 
all so astonishingly familiar, 
awakening a time 
thought placed away_, 
when I held your hand, 
my eyes focus on your whispered breath, 
not knowing what would be your last_. 
Until now. 

For Winter’s calmness has returned.
And I am hearing only
my own breathing. 
And although I know 
that this air we can no longer share, 
as if to awaken
Winter’s silence, 
I inhale deeply in, 
then out that which gives me life, 
in a last hope, 
it may find you, 
and I may again 
hear a whisper of you_,
still here. 

But that time and faith
has passed by me,
leaving now only the understanding,
that I was meant to be
a part of your irreplaceable story,
a witness to your bravest 
moment of unselfish courage, 
that enveloped everyone 
in the room not of your choice, 
that became your 
last unforeseen loving gift__, 
the fearlessness of letting go__. 
That it was alright__, 
to let go. 
I see that now, 
what other choice have I, 
other than to love you_, 
and so I, 
let your hand, 
fall away, 
from mine. 

But that moment too has passed by me, 
and I am here, 
in this Winter woods, 
at this crossroad, 
without you 
questioning our way Home. 
For Home is where I want to be. 
And Home is where you are no longer. 
What choice have I 
other than to let you go,	 
knowing each breath I take 
you will still be with me 
long after Winter has passed. 

And although our paths will meet again 
I now understand they no longer cross. 
Is that not your message? 
Where you not here to tell me that 
In this Wintertime? 
Is that not the reason Zelda and I 
are on this path, 
In these Winter woods,  
at this crossroad, 
I now remembering, 
now reciting the words from a long-forgotten  poem, 
whose true meaning 
I thought I knew, 
but you have taught me differently 
in these winds of Winter, 
teaching as you have always done, 
offering us another way, 
Home, through the verse of a poem___.   

 “I shall be telling this with a sigh 
Somewhere ages and ages hence: 
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I_”
 No!_ my irreplaceable one_ we each 
“..took the one less traveled by__, 
And that has made all the difference.” 


Scott Von Holzen