A Failed Quest and Minor Notes.

While engaged in writing that last post about the kind of music in which male and female voices connect in sublime harmony, I went a little further towards understanding something I’ve long known to a lesser extent:

That state of sublime harmony is what I’ve been earnestly seeking all my life but never been able to find. It’s that old Holy Grail thing again – the devoted seeking of something which might exist in another dimension, or might not exist at all.

I can do partnerships, though only for as long as the flavour remains vibrant, but sublime harmony requires more than that. Sublime harmony requires union, and union has been ever elusive. It seems I was always destined to be an organ grinder without a monkey.

I’m spilling my guts a bit tonight, aren’t I? I wonder why.

*  *  *

Today was generally drab, desultory, and only mildly dysfunctional, but this evening I encountered a comely maiden from the village who tried to sell me a plastic poppy. I had no money in my pocket and so she went away again. It was, however, unusually mild by the standards normally expected of late October. The night-darkened windows of the little abode were graced with dancing moths again. And the bats are still visiting at dusk.