2 O'Clock



2 O'Clock 


A tooting–no, fluting–invited my ear into the night. Focusing my sense of sound on the the evocation, I became sure that it wasn't a flute. It had none of that tinny sweetness that I associated with a flute. No, it was fuller, broader...the notes were rounder than the sometimes shrillness of a metal flute.

I say it was a recorder, a recorder passing under my window to charm me out like in the story of the pan piper and his rats following the sound to and into the river. The sea is so near that he wouldn't have to lead me far...

The night piper was playing a familiar tune, one usually accompanied by a drummer. And although my brain was a mass of melma (mush from half consciousness), I searched and searched my memory banks...I beckoned it to come ashore and give my mind the name it needed.

The song was percussive and had a modern feel, yet I knew it came from a more complex, classical piece. The melody became stronger until it swelled beneath my window. Then, the sound slowly lost its intensity until all that was left was the tune echoing in my ear.

The melody played, replayed, and played again on the banks of my memory. Though a tinge of annoyance was tickling my brain at having been woken, I also thought: How often do I get to hear a great melody serenading me under my window?

I drifted off knowing morning clarity would brush off the title from the shores of my memory. And it did...Bolero by Maurice Ravel. Played by a recorder, no less. That was definitely the first time I had heard a rendition by a solo instrument, and probably the last. I tucked it away in my memory and hope to swim with it sometimes when the melody flows into my consciousness.



Image by: <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/sandeephanda-5704921/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=2524391">Sandeep Handa</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=2524391">Pixabay</a>


Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

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