A Silent Violin
A SILENT VIOLIN I stand, a silent violin amidst the symphony of life's choices. The wind, a maestro's baton, dances with a trillion leaves, conducting a choir of rustling, a crescendo of ease. The choices I must make hang in the air, plump grapes, heavy with the juice of consequence and desire. The sky seems thick with doubt and music, a silent symphony, a cacophony of colors, a tapestry of scents. Either a river of whispers painted in hues of regret, singing in a minor key of might-have-beens– or a shiver of unspoken lament, the coolness of the blues as well as the mournful buzz of berries eaten too late. But the taste of courage is a sharp, tart apple, biting through the cobwebs of fear that cling to my throat. I feel the vibrations of decision in my chest, a bass drum echoing through the cavern behind my ribs. The flavor of it, metallic and electric, surges through me like a bolt of lightning. A...
