A World Beyond

A Cello on a Cliff

It's dusk, with purples, blues and pinks in the sky and clouds surrounding a small green covered space on the edge of a tall cliff overlooking a busy city with no noise. The space is covered in grass with speckles of bright colours littered as tulips, dandelions and leaves. There's a forest surrounding the space with great big old oaks at the rough border line. Closer to the edge at the cliff I'm sitting in an old wood chair with a dark oak French cello resting against my body. The chair wobbles from side to side as my weight settles onto it. The view from the cliff is of a busy city but from a distance so high its more quiet then a mouse, people are like ants. As I listen I only hear peaceful silence, nothing can find its way up here.

I sit in the wooden chair I start playing the cello. I can hear each delicate note ring out gently and peacefully like there's no such thing as worry making the melody of pirates of the Caribbean. I listen closer at the sound of the bow being dragged across the four open strings. The sound emerges scratchy and daunty like there's danger around the corner, that is created by the notes emerging. As the sound rings out it spreads across the empty space making their way slowly down to the silenced city below. I can hear faint commotion from the city as they listen to the music being created.

I look ahead of me. I see a long dark oak bow being dragged across the four strings. The bow movements ranging from the sudden spacing and scratching of staccatissimo to the longing smoothness and flowing legato. The sticky dust like rosin from the surface of the delicate horse hair of the bow slowly, deliberately feathers down onto the bridge and wood of the cello underneath. By now the rosin is painting the crevices of the strings a light off white like the clouds shadowing the horizon. The horizon looks like a dark rainbow, the clouds creating shadows and delicate layers. The sun reflects colours of coral orange, rose pink, sea blue and leaf green, all of the colours being so similar to nature as if nature has moved objects up to sky. It makes its own world in the sky looking over the cliff with ivy and vines climbing the cliff, a creek nearby with a waterfall seen even closer over the edge of the cliff. It's the only place of peace.

My body is resting against a chair that feels old and charred. I can still feel the smoothness where the wood stain hasn't worn off. I held the bow in my right hand, my fingers delicately around the frog and as I do I can feel small vibrations in time with the melody travelling through my entire body. My bare feet push into the ground, the fresh green blades of grass tickling the sides if my feet, the dry dirt crumbling underneath the weight. In clear my mind and completely relax my body slowly and I become aware of the weight of the cello against my shoulder, knees and chest. It doesn't feel heavy, it's like a pencil resting between the thumb and fore finger.

As I breathe in the air around me I can taste the crispness of it. I can also taste faint pieces of sap fron the dust-like rosin loose in the air. Ican smell the city fumes of resturuntas, take awy and backyard BBQ's, pertrol fumes from cheap gas stations, cars (ancient and modern) and chimney smoke from most of the houses in the city and far distane. A stronger smell is the fresh bittersweet scent of rosin from the bow.its just another night where a youner girl girl plays her cello in the old wooden seat.

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