Day 11: A Storm, a Wake, and a Tune

At first, my good thing of the day was the short walk I took in light rain, lugging cello and music bags to a tucked away corner of an abandoned stage, where I could learn some new tunes with a friend.

But I followed my friend (and the rain) to a wake. I didn’t know the person who’d died. The wake was at a pub we play at, now and again. The man had been good friends with the owners.

And then my good thing became breathtakingly great.

The place was filled with family and friends of this young person who’d passed well before his time. A car wreck, they said. All across the room, the faces were sympathetic but jolly. People laughed and embraced; and when they looked at each other, I watched them look straight into each other’s eyes, and give that lengthened beat of time that ticks, “I know, I know, I know.”

 

A stranger in their midst, I sat around a table with nine or so more, and plunked out tunes I’m still in the midst of learning. A few couples danced. Each of us with our dram or pint (or both) we watched the rain get harder and the room get warmer. Out of the picture window I could see the street flooding with downpour and flashes of light.

The thunder mocked the bodhrán, 

and the fiddle skipped a beat, 

but the song never lost it’s rhythm, 

and the crowd was none the wiser.

 

---

let it be known, I want a wake like that…