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