Of the Week

Composer: Tomaso Albinoni Concerto: Concerto a cinque Op. 9, No. 2 for Solo Oboe and Strings in D minor Collection: 12 Concerti a cinque Year published: 1722 "Albinoni was a composer of color and mastery." David Dubal

by Bliss Carman THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood— Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by. And my lonely spirit thrills To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills. There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; We must rise and follow her, When from every hill of flame She calls and calls each vagabond by name. photo taken October 2012; light & size edited in Apple Photos in October 2018 "How beautifully the leaves grow old! How full of light and color are their last days!" John Burroughs  

by Jonathan Ashurst written October 2018 My Grandma Ashurst taught me To listen for the chords When playing the piano, When walking with the Lord. Some notes sound well together; Some chords have hints of strife. There's lots of life in music; There's music in each life. Here's what my Grandma taught me, The piano player from Wales: Look for the bigger picture, The story each song tells. Be mindful of the pattern, The sequence that unfolds; Awareness of this framework Will make your playing bold. Maintain a steady rhythm Through every changing mood; Bring joy to all who hear you Through each vicissitude. Find beauty in the thickness Of life's cacophony, And celebrate God's goodness In this grand symphony. When genius comes out clunky, Just laugh and keep your poise. Have fun while you are playing; Bring melody from noise. The key to making music, The secret to life's art, Is more than hitting notes right: It's playi

This week's featured song is "She Waits," the title track of the Gray Havens' new 2018 album  She Waits.  "She" in the song is creation, and the song is based on the Romans 8 passage quoted at the end of this post. Dressed in chains, now she waits, lookin' back upon that day when the dawn first held its gaze upon the son and the daughter's face. But strange now it seems, like some dark and distant dream. Still she hopes and longs to be once again, and finally free. So she waits . . . She's seen empires come and go, watched the kingdom's children grow— sparks and embers far from home born to shine and to behold. 'Cause on her chain is a lock, and the key is the radiance she will see from the light that's gonna be cast from the sons and the daughters free. So she waits . . . She's a captive till she sees, by the Morning Light redeemed, sons and daughters. She waits . . . It's been a long time comi