DH AN: I have a oneshot for the holiday season. I hope you enjoy Sounds of The Season.
Sounds of The Season
Rejoice, rejoice, Emanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.
Erik had heard the simultaneously lamented and assuring tune for four weeks at least three times every Sunday, the notes floating through the air from a nearby, rather small, cathedral. It was somewhat irritating him. What bothered him was not the tone of the music, nor was it that a lifelong wish of his was to be able to go out on Sundays, but it was the rather poor a cappella with which the music expressed itself.
Granted that within the coming week, the patiently somber tune would be replaced with those that were more suited for festivities the winter season offered; Erik found himself as he had in the past few weeks, adding with his violin what he did not hear in the voices. No one would hear but he, the maestro. Running the bow across the strings, he granted the music a resonance laced with the assurance that was seldom heard within the piece.
Sure enough within the week, Erik heard the music floating from the small cathedral change.
Angels we have heard on high; sweetly singing o'er the plains. /And the mountains in reply echoing their joyous strains.
Erik seemed to need no second heeding as he put his bow to the strings in the familiar fluctuating notes of the Gloria In Excelsis Deo that served as the refrain as the melody soared through the air, the notes of which resounded throughout the cavernous house on the lake. Although he had given up on most of the ideas of religion, music of any sort called to him, filling a void that nothing else could. Three more familiar tunes met his ears, Adeste Fideles, The First Noel, and the final piece, as par tradition, Joy to the World. Each melody was played with great gusto that Erik was surprised by. He felt no connection to what was celebrated; if that were truly the case, how could his singing strings carry such emotion as they were in this very moment? He failed to understand exactly what about music tethered him regardless of season, purpose, or sentiment.
Music was his muse, his sanity; his breath…hell it was his everything. There was nothing that could replace its place as his greatest expression. Music was simultaneously his siren and savior; his rescue several times over. Music spoke to him as nothing else could. The music of this season somehow brought him solace that he had yet to find in any other composition; he found that not even melodies penned by his hand held the same effect.
The sounds of this season would continue for at least a week more, but Erik found that was something he could tolerate…rather he might enjoy it.
DH: Merry Christmas. Please Review.