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“What were you expecting,” mad words, hot steel sweating, the drum pops over the last syllable, rhythm fills the room, flashes, sustains, the cymbals hit the air thick with shiny resolve. Guitars glide in, release the tense trapped thoughts, an anthem to whatever has been cramming in your head all day… images, sounds make distinct marks, rise and fall like a heartbeat, like pros and cons, like right and wrong, but in the confusion, it’s crystal clear.

Music fills the dark hull of emotional angst, writes novels in a few lines, accompanies lines of laughter with ease. Most days we need it badly. Captured in this tight space, we seek anchor, solace, relief in art. We go to concerts, see friends sing in a cafe in St. Germain, cross cities to look at photographs, scan next summer for theatre fests in the mountains. Give art an honored place in the sacred needs of the soul.

Striving through head colds, feuds with family, stupid mistakes, art saves us from – petty thoughts, mediocrity, ourselves. What it gives us lasts.

Doors open onto the garden, breezes blowing in, the house is in disarray but ..whatever…, the weather so nice, the mellow sun flows in, we walk in the door after school, throw packs down, argue about what songs, finally agree, stick the ipod on the Bose speaker then… dance. The white carpet in our living room skids underneath us sometimes, we re-play the song, the dog gets hyper and starts to bark.