These days, I've taken the time to finally realize that there's air in my lungs and a beat in my heart, and that is half of my life right there. Because with that, I can accomplish so much-living through my Advanced Placement Chemistry Exam (I'm now making plans to ceremoniously burn my review book), dealing with people just as stubborn as I am, even perform my All-State oboe solo tomorrow in front of Mr. Judge. Yes, D-Day has come, my friends.
But oddly, I'm not nearly as nervous as I thought I
would be; this poem may be a contributing factor to that phenomenon:
The sky is low, the
clouds are mean,
A narrow wind
complains all day
You see, I had a
recital last Wednesday night for said oboe solo. Said recital included
playing Concerto for Oboe by R. Vaughan Williams in front of
people very close to my life. Twenty five people very close to
my life. One could naturally guess I was about to flip a shit, but strangely,
all thought of scurrying out of the auditorium dissipated once I began reading
from a book in my hand, and the words of Miss Dickinson filled the nooks and
crannies of space.
Hey, copyright people, I don't own this picture. From http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/2KRr4x/:1lj+LQQ6e:ItP4!$AE/www.streetartutopia.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/street_art_paint_war_berlin.jpeg/ |
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