Where Did Yesterday Go?

In the blink of an eye, of course, where else? Do you have days which concertina, despite your best efforts to stretch them longer? Wednesday was like that for me. All intentions to write a blog post went out the window, and I spent the greater part of the day immersing myself in yet more music. I blame this, of course, on my discovery of Loreena McKennit and my initiation into iTunes for Windows.

They both occurred on the same day.  With happenstance leading me to Ms McKennitt's video on Tuesday, curiosity about her music soon had me rushing to join iTunes - something I'd previously ignored. As with every other technological bit of wizardry I embrace despite initial reluctance, it caused some minor blips, from which my long suffering No. 1 son rescued me. Bless him. Again.

By Wednesday morning I was clutching my Plastic Pennies in my hot little hand, metaphorically speaking, spending them at the rate of 79p per track on collecting iTunes for all I was worth. Or about £7.11's worth, whichever was the greater! No problems there, but, in order to choose favourite tracks, I had first to listen to the whole album...That is my excuse, and I'm sticking to it. LOL.

So I had another magical musical day; live at the Alhambra with Loreena  McKennitt, torn between West Meets East with Yehudi Menhuin and Ravi Shankar, memerised by Joshua Bell's violin concertos by Bruch, Mendelssohn and Tchaikovsky then serenaded by Voces8 as they sang my favourite 'O Magnum Mysterium', from their album Eventide.

Hence no blogpost.


Though to make up for missing a day, here's an extra, poetic thought to add to the musical ones above.

Blank Pages

Our book of life falls open at a page
whereupon we write our stories daily,
with tracery that weaves our souls’ intent
into the fabric of the words we choose;
ours the choice to seek the light or dark
inks to embellish the script of our play.

We have to take the leading role. Each act
supplies a cast of characters for us,
without whom our production would be dull,
a monologue in shades of monotone
uniformity.  So raise the curtain,
let the orchestra play an overture
as we stand in the wings of a stage set
with backdrops poised to paint the scene for life.