“Sharon!! Would you PLEASE STOP banging on
that piano and SCREAMING!!!” That was my Mother’s
response to my early musical aspirations. Grandmother
sighed with relief as my rehearsal was interrupted.
No one seemed to realize that all I needed was a better
composition. Something more grand to showcase the
richness, the range, the magnificence of my coloratura.
Piano as percussion is something that four year olds understand.
I could hear the thunder of the tympani, the sweet agony of the
violins, and I was doing quite nicely, thank you, at representing
the swell of the choral voice. Why couldn’t any one else hear the
What a bother to be so misunderstood. I had to acquiesce
to people who could not even hear the glory of the Stars sing.
Not even at dusk as the Evening Star rose with her solo as all else
fell silent. I would hear the sweet Star Song. And as darkness
allowed all of the other Stars to voice a prelude to their
appearance in the night sky. “Sharon!!! Close that door!!
You’re letting the mosquitoes in!!!”
ⓒ Bearspawprint 2013