I keep finding these things I scribbled down and forgot about. This was in a little notebook I used to carry around with me sometimes. We were at an orchestra concert at Dordt sometime a year or two ago; obviously I paid more attention to the instrumentalists than the music that time.
He sat, leaned back, with his hair combed straight up, looking out through his dark rimmed classes like a bored celebrity. He had a shock of dark hair and a grey beard. He knew what he was doing, and it was easy.
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With raw passion and long, thick hair hanging in curly wisps about her face. . .long bare arms, she played like the breeze, with as much care as a brook and as much thought as a sparrow.
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With great care and diligent work she had learnt her art; she was precise, she was concentrated, and her foot tapped a little to the beat. An open, innocent, and almost foolish face was hers. You didn't really expect her to know anything, but she was good.
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At first you thought she was pretty, but then you realized she wasn't, really. Her face was plain, and bordered on being grumpy. But then she began to play, and we realized she had a soul. . .maybe more of a soul than we had.
...a soft, green voice, with roots in the deeps and leaves reaching for heaven. . .
The descriptions are plenty florid, and unfortunately have no point in existence. Interesting, though. People are so interesting, and they all have stories. If only I knew what they really were.
Sometime I should try asking them, instead of making something up from a distance. . .
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consider that this day ne'er dawns again. ~dante
1 comment:
I too am a people watcher. I love hearing their stories, but guessing them is just as fun!
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