Some weeks ago, my parents and I went to an old movie theater in town to watch a live performance of the band of a relative's husband. The movie theater in it self is beautiful, with the resemblance of a small operah house, and it's connected to a quaint coffee shop whose staff is mostly consisted by tremendously courteous ladys and men with interesting beards and hobbies.
As I sat in the comfy red movie chair, in the dull light of the theater and listened to the hushed mumble of the people around me, three men walked up on the stage and started to play. And everything suddenly turned in to a deaper shade of all the colours surrounding me.
I'm sure all of you have been moved by the subtle magic of music, and if you've listened to a really good live music performence, you'd know that there is nothing quite like it. For a while now, my begeting of fealings has been more of an effort rather than the natural flow of faithful contancy that it normally is. But when that music started, my heart strained every string in my chest and started to sing along. And for that whole night, the dullness lifted of my mind.
That evening my thoughts wandered on and of, from the dark cealing to the secret places of my heart, and I found my self captured by the musicians's hands - how delacetly and deliberatly they moved over their instruments. And the play of expressions over their faces - how they seamed to feal every note and move there after.
That night that was all there was - there in the mind of the music. And all it took was a piano, a bass, a set of drums and three devoted musicians to make them come alive.
As I sat in the comfy red movie chair, in the dull light of the theater and listened to the hushed mumble of the people around me, three men walked up on the stage and started to play. And everything suddenly turned in to a deaper shade of all the colours surrounding me.
I'm sure all of you have been moved by the subtle magic of music, and if you've listened to a really good live music performence, you'd know that there is nothing quite like it. For a while now, my begeting of fealings has been more of an effort rather than the natural flow of faithful contancy that it normally is. But when that music started, my heart strained every string in my chest and started to sing along. And for that whole night, the dullness lifted of my mind.
That evening my thoughts wandered on and of, from the dark cealing to the secret places of my heart, and I found my self captured by the musicians's hands - how delacetly and deliberatly they moved over their instruments. And the play of expressions over their faces - how they seamed to feal every note and move there after.
That night that was all there was - there in the mind of the music. And all it took was a piano, a bass, a set of drums and three devoted musicians to make them come alive.
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