Friday, December 04, 2009
He sits in a simple wooden chair, at its edge - legs bend, and one foot atop the other. He does not speak. His fingers do, and so does his 6 string guitar. His sound energy embraces me. I feel soothingly detatched from the world of life. Afloat - upon the transformation which gently explodes as his magical digits glide across the strings. Afloat - upon the sound of Palchelbel Canon played on an acoustic guitar. He plays on ... strumming roughly .... strumming delicately. When he makes the strings dance, I hear golden, flowing sounds. When he makes the strings sing in lulls, I hear rubra, ebbing sounds.
taken at Mountainview Cemetary in Vancouver